Mayday
by twistedservice
Summary: Listen closely. You hear that? Nothing but silence. Signals are down; communication lost, nothing but static stretching across the horizon. No one is coming to save you. Remember that. Let the 155th Hunger Games commence.
1. Different Dynamics

Prologue, Part One.

* * *

 **Dominika Gardell, 38, President of Panem**

* * *

"I don't know why you had to bring him."

"I need a sidekick wherever I go. Cambria's not home."

"She'd take offense to you calling her a sidekick."

"Precisely why she's not here."

Dominika let out a breath, attempting to keep one eye on Ferrox and the other on Vesper, who was currently making slow, random circles around the room. It was eerie, how much they still looked alike, although she supposed it was the eyes. The hair might not be the same but the fact that they were twins did the job good enough.

She could barely deal with Ferrox, and now the Gods were testing her patience with another one.

A small clink caught her attention, and she turned just in time just to see some trinket or other roll off a desk on the far side of the room. Vesper cast a guilty, sly look over his shoulder at the pair of them, and not-so subtlety kicked the bauble under the desk.

Dominika sighed.

"Please tell me the arena's done."

"It's not," Vesper chimed in, looking quite pleased with himself. Ferrox leaned back to a dangerously horizontal position in the chair.

"It is."

"No, it's not."

"Remind me why I brought you here again?"

"Because I'm your brother, and your apparent sidekick, even though I'm older—"

"I still think Mom was wrong on that front, you know."

"So that means she confused us and I'm actually you? Great. Now I have to be straight," Vesper complained. She fixed her gaze on a blank point between the two of them, staring out of the window on the other side of the room. She wasn't built to have this level of patience. Then again, there wasn't a soul in the world who deserved putting up with one Mervaine, let alone two. Her chosen method of torture would be locking someone in a room with Ferrox to see how quickly they'd give up. She'd have to add Vesper too, at the rate they were going.

"It's not done," Ferrox tells her. "Almost, though. Just a few more last minute touches on the interior, and—"

"This portrait is hideous," Vesper interrupted, casting one dramatic finger towards the framed image hanging by the window. Dominika sighed. Again.

"That's my grandmother, and she was a beautiful woman."

"I'm _gay_."

"That's not my grandmother's fault."

Ferrox choked, a few droplets of whatever alcohol he had cooked up dribbling down his chin. He glared at the two of them, ripping a napkin off the table to wipe at his face. It's that look, of all of them, that makes her feel an ounce of fondness. All the times she's spared him, felt some ounce of genuine care, they're valid. At least she thinks so.

Vesper swept around, and she watched in slow motion as the tail end of his coat caught against a glass bowl on the table. One second it was sitting perfectly on the table and the next it crashed to the floor, glass shards scattering themselves around his feet. He stood perfectly still, staring down at the ground.

"My bad," he managed. Ferrox started laughing, bending his head down until it rested on the table. She stood up, stomped over to Vesper and grabbed him with one hand, dragging him out of the mess on the floor. He started laughing too, shoulders shaking lightly, as she dragged Ferrox out of his chair with her other hand, pulling them both towards the door. One of the guards stationed by it yanked it open, looking no short of amused, watching as she all but hurled the pair of them into the hallway.

"Finish the damn arena, Mervaine!"

"Which one?" Vesper chortled, clutching at his stomach. Ferrox all but shrieked in laughter, stumbling a few feet away from the door, no doubt in an attempt to calm himself. His laughter only increased when Vesper tore after him, wheezing and nearly tripping over his own two feet.

"Grown ass men in their thirties," she muttered under her breath. "Fucking idiots."

"Hey, I heard that!" Ferrox yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway. Vesper stumbled again. He might be crying at this point. Dominika turned back to the guard.

"Did he—?"

"Have alcohol on him not provided by you? Absolutely."

"It's ten in the morning."

The guard paused, obviously at a loss for what to say. Eventually he shrugged.

"Ferrox said you wouldn't mind," he said simply.

"Ferrox is also a piece of shit."

"Dom!" Ferrox complained, his voice verging on a whine.

"You're a terrible influence! Do you act like this around Atlas?" She questioned, stepping out further into the hallway. Vesper ducked out of sight behind Ferrox's shoulders, peeking around them like he was scared to look at her. Ferrox straightened up, squaring his shoulders. He pointed an accusing finger at her, stumbling when Vesper latched onto his coat from behind.

"My son is going to be exactly like me, and watch, you'll be grateful!"

She's not going to be grateful.

There is never going to be a single moment, a single second, where she'd be grateful for a third annoying Mervaine man in the world. In her life especially.

Dominika Gardell signed up for a lot of things.

This wasn't one of them.

* * *

[Guess who's back, back again.]

I meant Dom and Fer, but you know, me too. Also meet Vesper. He's a charmer.

Anyway, welcome to Mayday, welcome to 23 new kids that I get to kill (once I get the list) and welcome back to my drunk, annoying main cast. I thought adding to it would only make it more fun to write and boy, I wasn't wrong. If you're new to this, Mayday is my second story, but you don't need to read Fields of Battle to understand it! All of the victors from last time will carry over, as well as the victor of FoB because Kiero's a babe, and of course these amazing guys, but that's really it. So strap yourselves in. If you're not new to my writing, well. You should already be strapped in.

Looking forward to the submissions.

Until next time.


	2. Expectations

Prologue, Part Two.

* * *

 **Cambria Mervaine, 34, Former Master of Ceremonies  
**

* * *

Ferrox was face-down on the couch when she got home.

Unsurprisingly, really. She walked forward slowly, stopping just in front of him. She nudged him with her purse.

"Are you dead?"

A muffled _yes_ came from the couch cushions.

"Oh, lucky me," she said simply, already walking away. He snatched an arm out and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back until she was sitting on the edge of the couch. It was hard. He was dead-set on taking up as much of it as he could.

"Why are you so mean to me," he complained, turning so just one eye was showing. His hair was plastered all over his forehead. It was almost hard not to laugh.

She blinked at him. "How hungover are you?"

"Not that much," he yawned, attempting to sit up. He flopped back down almost immediately, although it was on his side this time. Instantly he buried his face in her side, both arms wrapped around her waist.

"Can you not," she deadpanned. "I have to get Atlas in 10 minutes."

Ferrox popped his head up. "Oh. I'm coming."

She watched as he wiggled around until he nearly slid off the couch, leaving her perched on the edge of it alone. He didn't come with her that often. It was probably a good thing. Ferrox Mervaine in a room full of children never turned out well. His tendency to say inappropriate things didn't help.

Cambria watched as he stumbled upstairs and came back down within two minutes, his hair semi-organized and keys in hand.

"We are not driving. It's three blocks away."

Ferrox grimaced, sending a sideways glance towards the sunlight pouring in through the window.

"We are not driving," Cambria repeated. "And you are not a vampire."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like profanity, though didn't protest as she grabbed his arm and hauled him out the door and down the front steps. He resumed grimacing, squinting up at the sky like he was personally offended by the light. She rolled her eyes.

"How's the arena going?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"I don't know, maybe because you're the _Head Gamemaker_. Though I'm starting to question why," Cambria stated, sighing. Ferrox gave her a cheeky smile.

"It's fine, calm down. Engineering's just going through and making sure it's sound, and I have to do it again tomorrow, but other than that, 100 percent done. Swear."

It was hard to believe him, but she didn't quite have a choice. She had given up her position as Master of Ceremonies to Edolie Penvarden; she spent more time in the Gamemaker's control room than she did anywhere else. It was what made the most sense. Cambria was sick of people clamoring for her position.

She was better suited to the Games than interviews, anyway. Even though she wasn't an official member of the team she was a second pair of eyes and ears for Ferrox, a second chamber of ideas.

It was obvious she wasn't supposed to be fully aware of everything going on in there, but Ferrox didn't have a filter and so long as she kept him in line, Dominika didn't care. Still, it was nice to say she knew the arena before anyone else. Had helped built it, even.

"You can come with, if you want," Ferrox said, as if he had read her mind almost exactly. She glanced up at him and he smiled, more genuine than what other people got.

Their relationship was weird. But it worked better than anything she had ever known.

The clamoring of kids was already audible over the people in the streets and the whir of hovercrafts overhead. The look on Ferrox's face was saying he was beginning to regret coming.

"Behave," she told him lightly.

"Don't I always?"

No, not really. But he knew that, and the grin on his face was saying it all.

She approached the front gate of the school, flashing an identification card at the few guards doing nothing of apparent purpose. They stared for a heartbeat longer at Ferrox. She was a regular here but him not so much. It took all of two seconds for Ferrox to notice, who stared back shamelessly, waiting until they turned away. The urge to elbow him was getting stronger by the second.

There were hordes of children running around the yard, some being led out the front gates by parents or siblings or nannies. A solid half of them still remained, Ferrox's eyes moving frantically as he tried to watch them all dart around him. If Cambria were to guess, the look in his eyes was something close to panic. His eyes changed, seconds later like they always did, when he caught sight of Atlas barreling towards them. Ferrox leaned down, opening his arms as Atlas launched himself over and into them as fast as he could manage on his little legs.

"Hey, how's my little man?" Ferrox asked, hoisting Atlas up until he was perched against his side. Foregoing an answer, Atlas did nothing but wrap his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder.

"See. He doesn't like school already. Smart kid."

Cambria rolled her eyes and leaned forward, dropping a kiss on the back of Atlas' head.

"I have to go sign him out. Stay here."

"Where am I going to go?" Ferrox asked incredulously. "I can't _move_ without stepping on someone."

She resisted the urge to smack him, in front of all of the kids, turning around in favor of signing him out and getting out of here as quickly as possible before Ferrox _did_ step on someone.

She turned back, at the last second before she entered the school's main hall, watching the two of them. Atlas was only four but she could see the Ferrox in him. She watched as he giggled at something Ferrox said, probably something horribly inappropriate that she'd have to fix later, but the smiles on their faces were worth it.

Some days she questioned what the hell she was doing. Some days she wondered how she'd even ended up here.

It was nothing like she expected, but sometimes she questioned why she'd never imagined it before.

* * *

Cambriox (?) spawns, part one.

I am literally just writing self-indulgent happiness at this point because the prologues are the only damn happiness we're all gonna get from this story.

I've got a solid 97% of the list finalized (after what, 4 days), but if any newcomers wanna take a chance and submit, I'm not opposed to that. The full list will be up with the next chapter. If you have any questions as to what's left, feel free to ask.


	3. The A Team

Prologue, Part Three.

* * *

 **Ferrox Mervaine, 33 years, Head Gamemaker**

* * *

"Hope they can swim."

"Spoiler alert."

Cyrus grinned at him.

"Besides, it's not like they _need_ to swim. Just not ... fall in."

"Whatever you say, boss man. Just pointing out a fact."

Ferrox sighed. He pressed a few buttons on the keypad by the entrance-way, watching as the door slid shut. Cyrus continued hovering by his shoulder.

"Don't you have a job? Why did I even hire you?" Ferrox wondered. He hadn't meant for it to all be out-loud, but sue him.

"Because it's been 8 years, man. _8 years_. You can't get rid of me now," Cyrus informed him, gripping him by the shoulders. "And you love me. Don't deny it."

He was denying it.

"Okay, please stop your bromancing, I'm coming in," Sona called from the hall, stepping around the corner and into the room. She had a hand over her eyes, tentatively removing her fingers as she stepped forward.

"Oh, good. You're not doing anything inappropriate."

"Excuse me."

"Nothing," Sona said innocently. "Just wanted to let you know that the dispatch points are all good. Though I think Resani broke a camera with Lex's help. Besides that, everything looks good to go. Just gonna do a last sweep on the bottom level."

"Thanks," Ferrox said. "See. Sona's being helpful."

"Not really," she said flatly. "I'm not the one fixing the camera. That's on you."

Ferrox sighed, lowering his face into his hand. Cyrus laughed, releasing his shoulders. Sometimes he wondered what he'd done to deserve his main team. It was mostly his fault, of course; he'd chosen them himself, but they'd all changed. The respect and the obedience he'd gotten at first has all but disappeared. They don't care anymore, they're just out to make his job harder.

And he'll be damned if he says he loves them like siblings out-loud.

"Message from Cambria," Cyrus said, pulling a little tablet out of his pocket and waving it at him.

"Just read it," he groaned, still half-leaning against the wall. One more day. Just one more day and the arena would be done and then he could leave them to their own devices without fear of them blowing something up.

"Uh, are you sure, you might want to—"

 _"Cyrus."_

"Okay. Uh. 'I'm pregnant.'"

There was a long pause in which he kept leaning against the wall, barely-listening. He frowned deeply

"Cyrus is pregnant?" Lex burst out, poking her head through the doorway. She had one eyebrow raised in interest, red hair falling over her shoulder.

"That's awkward," Resani piped up, peeking around her into the room. Great. Now he had an even bigger audience.

It took him more than a few seconds to process it, and even longer to even consider lifting his head off the wall. Fuck. Okay, maybe he should have read it himself, maybe he shouldn't let anyone even look at his messages, _dammit_. He was supposed to have privacy for a _reason._

"If it helps, she also said 'I hate you'," Sona added, pulling the tablet out of Cyrus' hands.

Ferrox let himself sag down the wall to the floor. Everyone was chattering, half of which he couldn't even begin to understand it was so garbled and fast-paced.

"I think he's dead," Cyrus said, peering down at him. Lex looked half-ready to run across the room towards him, genuine concern in her eyes. Sona looked half-ready to laugh.

"The arena claims its first victim!" Resani cheered, throwing both of his tattooed arms into the air.

Ferrox started laughing.

He's aware that he probably sounds deranged, that or just horrifying, but nothing else will come out. What the hell is his life, at this point? Half the time he barely knows what he's doing and the other half he's getting whacked in the face with things he never expected, material or otherwise. But the thing is, he's happy. He's not scared for his life, or for theirs, or for Cambria or Atlas or whatever the hell this kid turns out to be.

"He's officially snapped," Sona commented idly. She leans down and pokes him in the shoulder.

If this is snapping, he's fine with it.

* * *

Cambriox (?) spawns, part two. See, I said part one for a reason.

Anyway. Here's to introducing even more of my batshit Capitol crew, and here's to having the final tribute list down below. I sincerely, sincerely apologize for any tributes I did not accept and if your tribute isn't on the list, please don't think that means I didn't like them or they weren't good enough. Some tributes I can envision stories for and others not. It's not personal, I'm just trying to write the best story I can. Also, I got over 40 submissions, so case in point. I also had to do a lot of shuffling with the vast majority of these guys because like half of you wanted to be in District Seven, Six, Nine, or Five (if you weren't picky about where yours ended up and said so bless your heart). I tried my best to at least keep them somewhere you were okay with, but it might not have happened.

Without further ado, our final tribute list!

 **District One:  
** Cerise Telvarri, Female, Eighteen  
Duke Galore, Male, Eighteen

 **District Two:**  
Seren Dobrana, Female, Eighteen  
Meritt Trevall, Male, Seventeen

 **District Three:  
** Mireya Daltier, Female, Sixteen  
Larz Navir, Male, Eighteen

 **District Four:  
** Lynn Marinna, Female, Seventeen **  
**Elias Basin, Male, Eighteen

 **District Five:  
** Kole Chambers, Female, Seventeen  
Kian Harvey, Male, Fifteen

 **District Six:**  
Alana Bedford, Female, Seventeen  
Kal Arker, Male, Eighteen

 **District Seven:  
** Arella Trinett, Female, Eighteen  
Glenn Aspen, Male, Sixteen

 **District Eight:  
** Erna Kinsley, Female, Seventeen  
Rover Morgan, Male, Seventeen

 **District Nine:  
** Kinnon Arias, Female, Fifteen  
Abel Montgomery, Male, Eighteen

 **District Ten:  
** Larkin Emerson, Female, Seventeen  
Oxen Ackerman, Male, Fourteen

 **District Eleven:  
** Sinora Floyd, Female, Sixteen  
Magne Cohen, Male, Seventeen

 **District Twelve:  
** Viscaria Cortese, Female, Sixteen **  
**Siung Jang, Male, Fifteen

Blog's up at maydaysignal . blogspot . ca!

I accept blog reviews as forms of payment. Seriously though whoever does one, I love you.

Until next time.


	4. Shadow Self

Reaping Day, Part One.

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

"You know, training on Reaping Day isn't a legit thing."

"I know."

"People usually, you know, sleep in. Do you even know what sleep is?"

"Not really."

Vance sighs, leaning back against the wall. Jesper just chuckles, tossing me another sword off the rack and towards me, watching as I snatch it out of the air to join the matching one in my other hand. I'd have thought they'd stopped complaining about my crack of dawn training sessions after this long, but apparently not. All I've done for the past five years is train and exhaust myself and go home only to repeat it all the next day.

Life's changed, and I still barely know what the hell I'm doing.

"So, what's the plan? Just gonna get up there and smile and wave and pretend like half the Academy didn't want you to volunteer?"

"You know, I wasn't really planning on thinking about that, but thanks," I point out, sending a terribly fake smile Jesper's way. He gives me a thumbs up, grinning.

"Just pointing out facts, man. Don't worry. I'll tackle anyone that tries to beat you up there."

"Thoughtful."

"You know, I didn't chicken out on volunteering to watch you not-train for 12 hours a day," Vance points out. "At least train, if you're gonna make me sit here. Both of you. You're embarrassments."

"You're the embarrassment," Jesper throws back. "You're the 20 year old trainer with teenage friends."

I let out a breath between my teeth, leaning against the nearest sword rack. I can't say anything, not with how they've always been here, ever since Estelle, but sometimes, I want to throttle both of them. I can't, though. I wouldn't even come close. They let me work myself to the bone because I won't listen to anything otherwise, and instead of abandoning me stick by my side even when I can tell they really didn't want to.

Like now, for instance.

They're halfway through some sort of random argument when Alistair finally decides to show up, hair a mess and wearing a shirt I'm fairly certain is inside out.

"Look who finally decides to wake up!" I call to him, not bothering to turn around. "Whose bed did you just crawl out of?"

"That's offensive. Also, Cerise Telvarri's. She told me she's the chosen volunteer, isn't that great?"

I turn instantly, a very obvious grimace painted across my face. My day had been going alright so far, for the most part, until that exact moment. Alistair instantly busts out laughing, clutching at his stomach.

"Oh, someone needs to get a camera. His face is priceless."

"Please tell me you're joking," I plead.

"Nope. Sorry. Good luck with that one. I mean, at least she's great in—"

"She's a _bitch_ ," Vance finishes instead. Well, I wasn't going to say it, because I'm usually courteous enough not to, but Vance isn't exactly lying. It's not like I didn't prepare for it, though. The chaos, that is. Kellen Mercer killed half the Career pack on the second day of the Games in the 152nd, the 153rd group couldn't even stay together long enough to make a single kill together, and all but one of the pack was dead last year before the first night was over, all at each other's hands.

I could be screwed. I know what I'm doing, but not enough to know why. Maybe it's a suicide mission. Maybe I just need to honor Estelle.

Maybe I just need to do it for myself. All I do know is that I haven't got a choice, now, because going into the Hunger Games is better than the alternative of staying here for the rest of my life wondering how I'm supposed to function in a world that got flipped on it's head when my sister died.

"You alright?" Jesper asks softly, materializing by my side. He must've ducked out of whatever weird conversation Vance and Alistair were having during the time I was lost in my thoughts yet again. I think that's something they have gotten used to, though.

"Peachy," I lie convincingly. Lying's easy. I've been raised to put on smiles and charm whoever I need to. I think Jesper's one of the only people who really sees through it. He just smiles, easy, and clasps a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, you still dress like a goddamn hippie and smell like a vanilla bean, so I think you're alright. Seriously, though, promise me something?"

"Sure," I respond, trying to ignore the first part of the sentence. Sue me for liking the smell of vanilla.

"Don't do anything stupid. Like give Mearlove the finger, or make out with someone you probably shouldn't make out with," he replies, and I can tell he's trying to joke, but it comes out more serious than he intended. "Honestly. At least one of those things is going to be tempting."

Well, he's got a point.

"Alright, losers, we need to go!" Alistair yells from across the room, ten times louder than necessary. He's already half-way out the door. I hang both of the swords back on the rack. I hadn't even used them. I guess it doesn't really matter anymore.

"Have some faith," I tell Jesper, bumping into his shoulder with my own as we start the walk down the street. He rolls his eyes.

"Haven't I always? Just make us proud. And come home so I don't have to feed your cat for the rest of my life."

I laugh, earnestly, and laughing hasn't come as easy as it should these past few years. I've missed it. My priorities have been absorbing myself into anything that seems important, whether I think it, or whether it's my parents or my friends ideas. My teenage years weren't normal. They were barely happy. I finally have the chance to do _something_ , even if I haven't pinpointed the exact reason why. Maybe all of this was for a reason. Maybe it's about time I found my purpose again, found a better reason to get through the day rather than anger or spite or just proving another person wrong.

I just want to start living again.

* * *

 **Oxen Ackerman, 14 years, District Ten Male**

* * *

If I go quiet I can imagine I'm back home.

Of course, being back home implies that I'm still dealing with my father, and I don't know if I want to imagine that. The good parts, though, those I can handle. Being out in the pastures, with nothing but the quietness around me, and the animals that are my only friends. I want to go back to that.

But at the same time, I don't. Because this, this is reality.

My Dad's walking a few feet behind me, oddly quiet for once. Probably because we're out in public and he doesn't want to cause a scene. We barely even look related. I'm short and quiet, ducking my head down so I don't get in anyone's way and he's an imposing, broad-shouldered threat, parting the crowds like he has every right to.

"Watch where you're going," Dad says, gruffly, and I barely manage to swerve around a cluster of people that have parked themselves in the middle of the road, immobile. I tuck my hands in my pockets and look down the street. I can just barely see the square from here, but the people milling around it are enough to pick it out. I don't like that many people in one space. Dad's lucky. At least he has the choice to stay away from the worst of it.

He barely does anything, when we finally gets there, just stands there to make sure I actually get in the line and then disappears off into the crowd. Not that it bothers me much. What bothers me more is the small, barely-there pinprick of blood dripping off my finger when I finally get to the registration desk. The guy who does it barely spares me a glance, shooing me towards the aisle-way with a vague hand gesture and an annoyed expression.

Most people in here don't know me, so it's easy to find a space right at the end of the aisle where no one's standing. The few who do know me, whether it's from school or passing by, give me looks. I know some of them think I'm crazy - when I do talk, it's to my cows back on the ranch. I don't have any friends. None of them know what to think of me.

I ignore them until the actual reaping starts, when Jacie Hartwell finally takes the stage, brown hair bouncing everywhere and a smile plastered on her face. I don't know how she does it. Sure, we had Kellen win, a few years back, and since then a few people have started training but nothing's really happened. She's either deluded into thinking this is going to go somewhere or doesn't have the heart to pretend otherwise.

"And for the ladies ... Larkin Emerson!"

I blink back into reality when I hear the name, peering across the aisle at the girls like everyone else is doing. Finally, a girl peels her way out of the 17's, hands shaky but clenched. She's nervous, everyone can tell, but she doesn't look as scared as some. Maybe she's one of the people who started training. No matter who she is, she takes the stage calmly, jaw clenched like she's holding all of her emotions back.

"And joining her from the boys will be Clark Barringer!"

There's an audible sigh of relief around me - it's no one in this area. Someone screams, a girl from outside the pens, who is barely caught by someone standing next her as she darts towards the 18's. That's where he is, just finally managing to escape the confines of everyone around him. He's tall, and he's strong, and he'll give District Ten a chance just like his partner, but he turns back to the girl and smiles. Girlfriend, maybe. She's crying a lot.

It takes a second, but behind Clark Barringer, behind the crying girl, I see my father. His face is painted into stoicism. He didn't care whether it was me or not - I'm the one that stands in his way when he tries to kill the cows for profit. He didn't sigh in relief when it wasn't my name. He didn't care.

No one did.

I step out into the aisle. I was right next to it anyway. Only a few people notice. I know I'll never be loud enough to announce it. I just look back at Clark, who's staring down at me in confusion, and leave my spot.

No one stops me from trying to get to the stairs. Larkin looks down at me, the terror in her eyes a little bit more visible now that I'm closer. Jacie looks like she wants to kill me. When I finally ascend the stairs and end up at the edge of the stage, everyone stares at me in silence.

"I volunteer," I say quietly. The microphone is too tall to reach.

Jacie paints a smile back on her face, though keeps the microphone clutched firmly in her hand.

"It appears we have a volunteer! Say hello to ... what's your name?"

I can't respond. I can barely find the space in me to get my own name out. All I can see is my father, still standing in the exact spot he was before. He doesn't look horrified, or sad, or even upset. He just looks blank. That's the only look I've ever known from him, other than the anger.

"Oxen Ackerman," I finally manage. Neither of our expressions change. Jacie sighs, shaking her head, and announces my name over the microphone. No one moves to cheer, or even clap.

There's nothing but silence. I'm not going to complain. Silence is all I've ever had, all I've ever wanted.

That shouldn't change now.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

I bury my head further into my pillow, trying to block out the sounds of everything going on around me.

Someone's crying in the next room. All I can hear around me are footsteps, some trying to be quiet but most of them stomping around like a herd of elephants.

First perk of living in an orphanage: you literally never sleep.

Second perk of living in an orphanage: at least you have somewhere to live.

I'm resigning myself to staying here a few more minutes, sleep or not, when there's a panicked shout from downstairs, followed by a series of terrified, piercingly loud squawks.

Third perk of living in an orphanage: literally everyone is an animal in some form.

I literally roll out of my bed and onto the floor, grabbing the first shirt I come into contact with without opening my eyes. I keep it clutched against my chest as I make my way groggily to my feet, like it's going to shield me from whatever's happened downstairs.

When I finally arrive at the bottom of the stairs a minute later, it's silent. The lack of noise is ten times scarier than the screaming. Hesitantly, I turn the corner.

Maura is standing in the middle of the kitchen slash dining-room, covered in some type of batter. Audrick comes through the front door the same time I turn the corner, his eyes wide. And there's about fourteen or fifteen kids in the middle of the wreckage, some so covered in whatever the hell mess they made it's hard to distinguish them from one another.

"What," I deadpan. A few of them, sitting on the floor, snicker quietly.

"I was trying to make pancakes. Special breakfast for today. Key word: trying," Maura sighs. Audrick steps forward, trying to maneuver around the worst of the mess, and takes around three different bowls out of his wife's hands.

A small figure finally peels itself off the ground, turning towards me and sliding across the floor. It takes me a second to realize that it's my sister.

"Em, if you come near me, you're dead."

She honest to god giggles. I hold the shirt out it front of me like it's going to protect me, trying to back up to the stairs without running into anything.

"Emori," I warn. She almost falls on the slippery floor, so violently that one of her feet careens out from under her and she catapults towards me. And I, without thinking, reach forward and snatch her out of thin air before she can hit the ground.

There's one horrible, agonized second where I try to will every ounce of batter off of me, and then another when I realize that everything she had been covered in is now coating my entire front and I can't do jack shit about it.

"Thanks?" Emori tries, stifling her laughter against my arm. I release her, watching as she wobbles backwards, and I sit down on the stairs with a thunk.

"Well, now the stair is covered in it too!" She complains.

"Not my fault."

"You shouldn't have come downstairs," she points out. Which, come to think of it, is fair enough. You would think I had learned by now.

"Can you help me with this?" Maura sighs, rubbing her arm across her forehead. She grimaces when some of the batter sticks in her hair. I can't say no, not when she's all I've had since I was thirteen years old. I've never been able to say no to helping her. I push myself off the stairs towards her, reaching my arms out as I go to haul everyone off the floor. By the time I finally get to her I'm about ten times more disgusting than I already was.

"At least you didn't put a nice outfit on?" Maura adds helpfully, fighting off a smile when I grimace down at myself.

"Or anything at all."

I throw the shirt I brought downstairs at her, knowing there a solid chance it wasn't even mine anyway. She wipes the worst of her face off with it and tosses it somewhere across the room.

"Remind me to get that later."

Later. After my last reaping, when I can stop worrying that I'll ever have to leave my sister and my life, no matter how crappy it's gotten. It's my last but it's Emori's first. Once we get through today I'll spend another six years worrying. It's like I can _feel_ myself getting wrinkles.

"You," Maura says suddenly, cuffing me around the back of the head. "Stop worrying. Everything's gonna be fine and you'll both be back here getting tortured on a daily basis this afternoon."

Surprisingly, that sounds a hell of a lot better than getting reaped.

I watch, a mop in one hand and an armful of dishes in the other, as most of the kids try and clean themselves up, the smarter ones, unharmed by the disaster, coming downstairs already fully dressed. Some shriek at the mess, others look half-tempted to run through it and make a spectacle at the reaping with their dirty clothes and filthy faces.

This is home. Home is where my sister is and where I feel safe, the only place I've had for the longest time. Maura smiles and flicks a few stray soap bubbles at me, her warm motherly smile doing wonders to ease not just me, but everyone else here. Audrick treats me like his eldest son, like I'm something to be proud of - not the kid who never knew his own father and watched his mother die in a sick-bed he couldn't even afford on his own because he was too young to know any better about the world and about how cruel it really was.

Emori catches my eye from across the room, like she knows I need it at that exact moment, and smiles. It's something wicked, something unafraid, something she shouldn't have as my twelve year old sister but I'm glad she does. It's from growing up too fast but I can't find any energy to fault her for it.

We've known the worst of the world. We see it every day. And somehow, we're still alright

* * *

 **Lynn Marinna, 17 years, District Four Female**

* * *

"We're going to be late!"

" _You're_ going to be late, Tyne!" I throw back, darting down the stairs two at a time. "Because you're going to take the road like a normal person!"

"Roof-top hopping is stereotypical! You're not a badass!" He shouts from his room.

"You'll regret saying that later," I tell him, poking my head through the doorway. He stares back innocently, smiling widely. I pick up the nearest thing to me, a sock hanging off his desk, and throw it at his face, all but throwing myself towards the back door and down the stairs. I can hear his annoyed shout even as I slam the door shut.

The houses here are too far apart to actually travel on, so I pick up my pace and jog towards the main road off the coast. I glance towards the docks, just down the hill. Mom and Dad are probably just getting off their early morning shift - they couldn't take a break from work, not even today.

As soon as I get into the main avenue I slow down, merging carefully into the flow of people before popping out on the other side. I look back into the crowd just to check that no one's paying too much attention to me and vault onto the windowsill of the tailor shop, reaching up to lock my fingers around the eaves-trough before pulling myself onto the low slope of the roof.

Tyne's right. Maybe it is cheesy, but there's less traffic up here. The view's always been nicer, too. Besides, the journey to the center of town isn't too far from here, just a few blocks of shops that are low enough for me to jump off of without really getting hurt.

By the time I get to the last shop, the line to get in the square is dwindling. Not late after all, then. Looks like Tyne loses yet again. I fidget the entire way through the line, glancing back to look for my brother while also trying to keep an eye on the processions. I haven't missed anything yet.

The Peacekeeper who takes my name doesn't even have to tell me where to go - I catch sight of Cordelia in the 17's just as the Escort takes the stage. I sprint over, pushing my way through several girls, some who look half-tempted to shove me back. Eventually I end up at Cordelia's side, throwing a brief arm around her before looking up at the stage.

"There are no female volunteers this year," Cordelia whispers to me. I lean closer to her.

"What? I can't hear over the idiot up there."

"I said, there's no—"

"Lynn Marinna!"

"What," I blurt out. Cordelia freezes beside me, eyes wide.

"What?" I repeat, looking up at the stage. Ceres Milani continues staring at me, a slip in her hand with my name on it, apparently. I can feel all the blood drain out of my face. I just got reaped. And according to Cordelia, no one's volunteering for me.

I must stand there thinking too long, because the next thing I know there's a Peacekeeper moving past the few girls next to me. He grabs my arm just below my elbow and starts tugging me out of the section. I catch sight of Tyne, standing in the row opposite mine, eyes wide. The Peacekeeper keeps moving me forward.

"Yeah, I get it," I all but snarl at him.

"You've got five seconds to make a new impression," he says under his breath. It's barely audible. If only he'd taken the damn helmet off first.

"What?" I say, for the fourteenth time.

"No one's volunteering for you. Think about what you just did. Fix it."

Oh. I get it now. I panicked. I looked scared. I looked like everything District Four shouldn't be, and now that's how everyone is going to look at me. I'm not a competitor. I'm a scared, fragile little girl who'll be dead the second she gets in the arena. If I don't fix it, I might as well have someone sign my death warrant now.

We're at the stairs. I need to think of something, but he's not letting go of my arm.

Wait.

Well. It's not the _worst_ idea I've ever had.

I twist in his grip and punch him square in the face.

On second thought, it might be the worst idea I've ever had.

I didn't take into account the helmet, or the stairs, and so I think I hurt my fingers more than I hurt him. His grip does loosen on my arm, though, and I get a lone second of satisfaction before the momentum my punch had knocks him straight back down the stairs.

He lands straight back down into the dirt, flicks the visor on his helmet up, and stares at me. There isn't even a dent, and my fingers are throbbing. I tuck my hand against his chest and muster my best glare back. Another Peacekeeper comes to his aid, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet.

"Good job, Saylor. Can't take a punch from a girl half your size and ten years younger than you?"

Definitely the worst idea I've ever had, because I just punched Eleutherius Saylor in the face, or at least tried to, and in three months he'll be the Head Peacekeeper in District Four. Not the wisest decision on my part.

"Sorry," I say stiffly. I turn on my heel, dropping my hand even though it's probably already bruising, and finish my journey up the stairs. The Escort looks scared to even touch me. Some people in the audience look more than a little satisfied. Even Tyne looks impressed, albeit nervous.

Time for a new me. Time to throw away everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I was safe from.

 _You got this_ , Cordelia mouths from the crowd. I force a confident smile onto my face. There are a few, scattered cheers throughout the crowd.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I was meant to do this.

* * *

Blog Consensus: Cerise is a bitch, Meritt's creepy, and Alana is wife material. Also, the coats are suspicious as all hell. What do I need to add?

I wanted to update on the weekend but then FFn had a meltdown for the 6000th time and I'm vain as hell and wanted to be able to see new reviews. So I'm updating now. I hope everyone can tell just from the first four that this is going to be a goddamn disaster and only like half of it is my fault. Really, though, I'm pretty happy with this group and how it'll turn out in the Games. They'll make things interesting, that's for sure.

I'll be putting a favorites poll up after the trains, so keep track of who you like/don't like. Not that it really has much effect, but I'm always curious.

Until next time.


	5. To Hell and Back

Reaping Day, Part Two.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

"I got it, Mom."

"Just sit still. Mothers are supposed to help with this stuff, don't think of it any other way."

I relax myself, dropping my arms. One of her hands comes up to steady my shoulder while the other does up the last few inches of the zipper on my dress that I couldn't reach with only one arm. Apparently I've learned how to do everything with maximum efficiency with one arm _besides_ putting on a dress. Apparently, I need to do it more often.

"You should've let me go to work," I say simply. She turns me around, examining the way the dress lays, and then finally meets my eyes, smile tight but warm.

"They barely let the adults work today, sweetheart. Not a chance. And besides, you have more time to get ready now."

I didn't think I'd need more time. Honestly, I don't. My hair's short enough that managing it takes all of a minute and a half and the make-up we own is scarce. Even though I'm ready so quick, there's no nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I've got enough experience dealing with trauma that I'm able to force it down in favor of something more rational. I know some people feel bad, seeing that lack of fear in my eyes whenever I'm faced with something new or strange, but I didn't want pity when the accident happened and I definitely don't want it now.

I spent two years pitying myself. Really, I'm over it. Now all I have left to do is make it up to everyone I let down during that time.

Mom presses a kiss to my temple. "You might want to head down before your brother eats everything."

She still tries, in the most subtle of ways, to coddle me. Sometimes I don't even think she realizes she's doing it. Dad is better, and tries to make jokes when something gets awkward or someone says the wrong thing. Atticus, to his credit, hasn't changed at all. At first he babied me, until he realized that I could still blow him away in terms of work production at the factory, and now he's back to the old brother I had.

As soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs, Atticus throws an apple across the room at me. I reach out, almost not even looking, and snatch it out of the air.

"Fifty-seven," he informs me, giving me two thumbs up.

"Atticus," Mom sighs. "Really?"

"What? I'm keeping track! That's fifty-seven in a row she hasn't dropped. I wanna see how long she can go."

"Probably higher than you can count," Dad breaks in, coming down the stairs after us. "I got faith in 'er."

I smile, while Atticus grumbles something under his breath. I place the apple back down on the counter in front of him. Not one of them moves to do anything, even though I know it's probably killing my Mom not to. They've gotten so much better at letting me do things myself, even if they know I'm struggling. I've got almost everything down, at this point. Working machinery one-handed, tying my shoes, shoving Atticus out of the way when he chooses to be a pain, the works. It's almost gotten ... easy. I still have days where I feel down, or like maybe I should have stayed in bed and not bothered starting over. But it's getting better. Has gotten better, actually. I've got a supportive family and friends that care. I've got more than a lot of people do.

"You nervous?" Atticus asks, leaning back against the counter. I lean back next to him, shoulders brushing.

"You know I'm not."

He laughs. "I wish I had that type of confidence."

I don't have the heart to tell him that I have as little confidence as humanly possible. I've just dealt with so much that if I did get reaped it'd be another thing to add to the pile that is my life. I'm kind of used to it by now.

"Don't be worried," I tell him calmly. "It's your last year. My second last. Pretty soon we'll be good to go live our lives."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Don't look at me like that," I almost plead. "You know I won't take that from you."

"Nah. It's just, if I was reaped, I'd be dead in like three seconds. Probably trip over something. You, however, would give 'em hell."

I'd like to think so. I went into hell two years ago and came out the other side. I know it better than most people do. Maybe I would have a chance. Not that I wouldn't be just as scared as the rest of them. I fought hard enough for my life that I wouldn't want to lose it in there.

If luck is finally on my side, I won't have to deal with it. I can working on getting better and figuring out how my new life works.

"Give 'em hell either way, sis. Here or there. Don't let anybody drag you down. They're not worth it."

I turn to him and smile. He returns it, leaning over the slightest bit to bump against my shoulder. He knows what I'm capable of. So do my parents, and my friends, but I think Atticus sees the best of it and encourages me to go for whatever I want. It makes me feel like I can do anything, take whatever of life I need to. Everyone else believes in me, even if they still feel the need to help.

It gives me the confidence to keep going.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

I've been trailing down the road after Morris for at least 15 minutes and he hasn't said a word.

I'm nervous, but I don't think he can tell. I've kept a smile plastered on my face since we left the hospital. I'd spent the whole morning on our early shift trying to cheer him up, practically following him around with a broom, but he hadn't said more than a few sentences at a time.

"So, what was all that about? At the hospital?" Morris says suddenly. It's still quiet, like everything else he says.

"What do you mean?" I ask earnestly. Nothing had happened. Nothing worth mentioning, at least.

"I left for like, five minutes and come back and Spyker Tomaso's harassing you in a corner. You know she's like, one of the higher-ups with the Kinsley's, right? What the hell is she doing harassing you?"

"O-Oh," I realize. "Nothing. Just a mistake. Thought I was someone else."

"That didn't look like nothing, man. She looked like she was two seconds from choking you out."

I put another smile back on my face. Morris looks at me from the corner of his eyes, shoulders drooping.

"I don't know what you're doing. My grandfather didn't pull you out of an alley from a gang and put you to work for you to get back into it. I'm not saying this because we're friends, because we're _not,_ but you're in some deep shit. You're lucky I didn't tell anyone."

The thought of him telling Marcos what he saw pops into my head, and I swallow. He wouldn't do anything. He loves me like a grandson. He's the only one that's taken care of me, the only one that'd ever had enough thoughtfulness to pull me into something good and praise me for it. Sure enough, there is he waiting for us at the line to the square, smiling. He claps a hand on Morris' back, who does little in response, and then puts a warm hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. I smile back at him sunnily, something he easily returns. He's done so much for me.

"Good luck, boys. Don't do anything stupid, you hear me?" Marcos says, smiling. Morris nods, unsmiling, and steers us back into the line, watching as his grandfather fades back into the crowd.

"Is that why there was morphling missing from the stores when I went and checked, after?"

I freeze, very pointedly avoiding his gaze, and pay more attention to the Peacekeeper who takes my name and ushers me out the other side of the line. Morris doesn't give up, though. It's worrying, coming from him. He usually doesn't care, or even look like he has the energy to. Now, he's relentless. He just follows, inches behind me, as I make my way towards the 17's. At the last second he grabs my forearm. I flinch, and either he pretends to not notice or doesn't care. His eyes are hard when I turn around to look at him.

"Don't tell me you got back into it. Not after everything he's tried to do for you. The Kinsley's will rip you apart, man. Their kids are practically street fighters. And that's if Tomaso doesn't beat you into the ground, first. They've got an empire, do you realize that? Every illegal drug trade runs through them and no one gives a damn, because they don't stand a chance trying to take them down. And you're what, running drugs for them? Supplying for them? You can't—"

"I get it!" I interrupt. "They're not - they're not hurting me, they're not doing anything, I promise, I'm just helping them out, that's all I've ever done. They need my help to do stuff, I want to help them, I'm fine with it, it's okay—"

Someone standing by my side shushes us, and Morris looks around me, glaring.

"You think that's helping people? Doing jobs like that for someone? Try actually helping someone. Do some good at the hospital."

I've been trying. Trying so hard. Morris has always been better at that stuff than me. He always—

"Erna Kinsley!"

"Oh, shit," Morris whispers, and he shoulders me aside to look across at the girls. "Did that just happen?"

There's another loud swear from the aisle across from us, and then Erna Kinsley pulls herself out of her row and starts towards the stage. Her face is cool, composed. Like she knew it was going to happen. Like she expected it. But she looks off. Scared, even. I've never seen that from her. Not from anyone in her family, and I've seen them all my life.

"You wanna do some good," Morris mutters. "Volunteer for whoever gets reaped next. God knows someone's gonna need saving from her."

My heart thumps nervously. I don't know if I can. But he's right. I can save someone. But I shouldn't. The Kinsley's need my help too, Spyker needs my help; who else will get stuff from the hospital if I'm not there?

"Morris Healey!"

It takes a second to register. By the time it does, all I can see is Morris standing in shock next to me, eyes wide and terrified. He doesn't even look at me. When I start moving, he doesn't even realize what's happening until a few seconds later. It's different, now. I have to do this. He's right. I can do this for him. He's a better person than I am. His life is worth more than mine. He can go on with his life without me, happy as can be. I'm fine with that.

"I volunteer!"

"Rover .. Rover! I wasn't serious!" He yells after me. "Don't you dare!"

A Peacekeeper starts following me up the aisle wordlessly, leaving Morris standing in our row gaping. I'm halfway up the stairs to the stage when I finally look up. Erna's staring down them at me, smirking. She recognizes me, even if it's not by name. And I know her, better than she probably knows.

"Looks like we got ourselves a runner," she says simply, although she sounds smug. Looks even more like it. Maybe satisfied's the right word.

Maybe I'm a runner. Maybe I'm nothing to her. All I do know is that I just saved Morris' life.

To me, that's all that matters.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I thought by this point I'd be used to the state of disarray my friends are usually in.

Ashton and Oliver, at least. Apparently them being twins means they have to be covered in an identical amount of mud and pine needles. And then there's June, who's usually the one watching over the two of them with varying degrees of annoyance. To almost anyone's surprise, I'm usually the one that's being the most mature, if not Juniper. Well, when I'm not cracking some dumb joke or ruining a moment or just trying to cheer someone up.

Today is no different. You think it would be, at least slightly. Maybe I'm asking for too much.

I thought maybe the three of them coming over before the reaping would at least mean we would have five minutes of peace. And then Oli had tripped over nothing but air five minutes from my house, grabbed Ash's shoulder in a frantic attempt to keep standing, and dragged them both into a conveniently placed watery trench in the road. Juniper had stood, inches behind them, splattered with mud and a look that said she was contemplating murder.

And now we're here; four teenagers crammed into a way too small upstairs bathroom trying to pull ourselves together.

Key word: trying.

"Literally none of this would have happened if you hadn't grabbed me," Ashton complains, wiggling around until he's closer to the sink.

"I still would've fallen," Oliver complains.

"It's not our fault you're a clumsy idiot," I point out. He lets out a shocked, offended gasp. June snickers under her breath.

"Are you guys almost done?" My Dad calls up the stairs. "I want a picture!"

I think he was also hoping he might have a nice picture of me with my friends, cleaned up and practically sparkling. Guess we can't all have what we want.

Oliver looks down at his shirt, which is more brown than white. His attempts at scrubbing it out have only been somewhat successful. Ashton isn't as bad off - he managed to twist himself mid-air so that he landed more on his brother than the ground. My only nice button-up shirt is still mostly intact. So what if there are a few brown splotches on the arm? It's not like anyone's going to notice besides the people who already know.

"Well," Oliver blurts out, looking down at himself. "Now or never."

He shoulders past me and leaves the bathroom. I don't even think he really tried to get the mud off him. I'm pretty sure there's still some in his hair. Ashton disappears down the stairs after him, which leaves me to grab June's arm and drag her after me.

"I don't get why we have to take pictures," she grumbles.

"We might as well make light of what we have!" I tell her easily. It's true. We might not be the most well-off, but me and my Dad have enough. I have friends, and a parent who loves me unconditionally, and I might be hungry sometimes but it's better than being miserable.

"Besides. I want someone to capture the scowl on your face for all of eternity when the flash goes off."

June grumbles something else under her breath that's probably pertains to murder. I ignore her, keeping a firm grip on her arm and drag her around the corner into the kitchen. The twins are already fighting over something or other that I probably don't want to know about. Dad smiles when he sees the two of us, mostly clean and ready to go.

"Alright! Before something else disastrous happens, all four of you squish in!"

I take one for the team and shoulder in next to Ashton, making sure June is as far away from the mess as possible. I throw an arm over both of their shoulders, smiling. Dad lifts the old, second-hand camera in front of his face, gesturing us closer together. I'm pretty sure I'm getting more mud plastered all over my side, but it's worth it when the flash goes off, as bright as our smiles. At least we'll have this memory.

"Still don't get it," June whispers quietly. I laugh, loud and carefree, when I see the unimpressed look on her face. No doubt it looks the exact same in the picture though. I pop myself up on the kitchen counter, watching as the three of them crowd around to see the old, already faded image that my Dad produces from the camera. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them somehow ruined it, but it'll be nice to have. Nice to see when we get home later and realize we _still_ have.

In two weeks I'll be seventeen, just like the rest of my friends. Two more years after this one and I never have to worry. Like I said, my life isn't perfect, not to most people. But I think it is. I can still find the time to joke and laugh with my friends, work with my Dad out in the woods without looking at it like a chore, and come home at the end of the night tired but happy.

That's it. I'm happy. In the most unconventional, weird sort of sense, but I am.

"He's getting the weird-sentimental look on his face again," Ashton stage-whispers, shouldering both of our other two friends. Both of them shake their heads, but they both kind of look the same way. Even Juniper, who rarely shows an ounce of affection for us at all.

"We need to get ready to go," Dad reminds us. He's already holding open the door. He knows he'll need to escort us there, or I'll get them lost or crack a joke that ends in us mock-fighting in the street, forgetting all about the reaping entirely. It's hard not to, but when I'm around these guys, I can.

When I'm here, I'm home. And I can't imagine being anywhere else.

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

The mirror in my mother's spacious, glass-walled office is massive.

It runs from floor to ceiling, located perfectly behind her desk. Everyone that sits opposite her can look just beyond and see the wide, anxious look in their own eyes as they speak to her, while she remains calm and composed just as she always has been. It's only a matter of time before they're sent to do some job or other than my mother will never have to lay a finger on because they listen to her so eagerly.

I can only hope that one day I'll be able to sit in a chair just like this, the head of whatever I want to be, looking down at all of the little worker bees below me.

"How do I look?" I ask her, as she comes striding through the doorway, heels clicking along the tile.

"Beautiful, as always. But you better be running along. No use being late. I won't be long."

I smile once more at myself in the mirror, tilting my head this way and that to make sure everything looks perfect. Not that it already wasn't, but it's always good to make sure. I smooth down my dress and slip my bag over my arm, waving a cheerful farewell as I skip through the doorway. We've never been one for affection in this family. It's all about the work. Wasting time doing other things is just plain stupid.

I know Allisi will meet me in our section, so it's Ryleigh I'm looking for. He always waited for me at the end of the line, even before he worked up the courage to ask me out. When I see him this time, a smile lights up my face, almost identical to the one on his own. He's never changed. I quicken my pace and all but throw myself into his arms. He lets out a light laugh, holding onto me tight for a few moments, feet dangling a few inches above the ground, before he sets me back down.

"Hey," he says when he releases me, but only the slightest. He's barely taller than me, so I only have to lean up the slightest bit to press a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. He smiles the whole way through, squeezing my hands tight. Ryleigh doesn't let go, not once, through the line. He always makes me feel like I'm the only one in the area, the only girl he's ever looked at. Even when he passes through the Peacekeeper line he waits in content silence on the other side, snatching up my hand again.

I speed up again when I catch sight of Allisi, standing in the first row of our section. She waves me over, and I take a last second to kiss Ryleigh once more on the cheek before trotting over to her, paying no heed to the crowds of girls around me. Almost all of them move out of my way the second they look, and if not they get the message quick enough.

"You look great," Allisi says quietly. She only ever gets a little rowdy around me, but almost never when other people around. I think the reaping makes her more nervous and shy than usual. Maybe it's all the people.

I keep my face carefully blank as Lilian arrives, shouldering her way through a few girls to stand at my other side. My sister doesn't look nearly as put together, looking more annoyed at the scene than anything. She glances quickly at the expression on my face and snorts.

"Lighten up, sis. You're freaking Rumir out."

Sure enough, our baby sister is staring at us from the 12's, eyes wide and frightened. I give her a brief thumbs-up and she smiles, just barely. Lilian scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. I just return to my previous position, noting Allisi's amused smile.

"It's not wrong to be scared. It's her first reaping. It could be any of us, Lilian, don't forget that," I remind her, staring down at her. She shakes her head and looks away, eyes following the escort as he takes the stage. I can't help but notice that he looks happier than usual. After all, we do have the newest, most recent victor in our midst. Perhaps he's finally realized that District Nine _is_ something to be proud of. Maybe he doesn't see the best of it, but I always do, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it one day.

I watch, hands folded in front of me, as he swirls a hand around the girls bowl. He pulls out a lone slip, looking around as if to get a reaction from someone. No one in the crowd makes a sound.

"Kinnon Arias!"

I freeze. But only for a second.

I don't even think Allisi and Lilian realize what's happened until I take off. This time around, everyone moves out of my way as I come flying out of the aisle at a breakneck speed. The Peacekeepers are frozen at the end of the aisle as I take off running towards the stage, taking the stairs two at a time once I reach them. The escort continues staring at me, mouth slightly agape, even as I yank the microphone out of his hands. It lets out a horrendous screech, one that I'm thankfully able to ignore.

" _So_ great to be here, Panem!" I drawl out, sweeping one of my arms around for emphasis. "Thanks a _bunch_ for the opportunity."

The people in the crowd are silent. I think people expected tears, or shock, or something other than me standing tall and staring down at them like I belong here. And then, after a too-long silence, there's clapping from behind me. Crux Malone sits, only four years older than me in his victor chair, clapping. After a heartbeat, the other victors join in. Then the crowd. The escort reaches for the microphone and I take a step back, out of his reach.

I can't help but smirk, raising my head high.

That'll show them.

* * *

I can't tell if this is getting better or worse, to be completely honest.

If I manipulate your tribute's history at all to better fit the story I'm sorry but I'm really not because I want it to go as smoothly as possible. I'm going to try to stick to my update once a week thing, on the weekends, like I did for FoB, but who knows because school sucks and also last semester sucked. And I'm aware that it's Friday, I'm just impatient so you're getting it a day early. I'll let you guys know if something comes up, but we should be good to go for now. As always, thoughts on this chapter appreciated just as much as the last one. Let me know if you're liking it so far.

Until next time.


	6. Thriving In Chaos

Goodbyes, Part One.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

To say the past few minutes have been a mess is the understatement of the century.

Mom and Dad have been ... quietly losing their shit. I guess that's a fair description. They both knew I was training, but they thought it was nothing serious. I don't think it helps that Corvis and Laz told them I wasn't the chosen volunteer anyway, so I wouldn't be going in even if I wanted to.

I was three rows ahead of the chosen volunteer, bored, and decided it was a prime time to have a mid-life crisis at the ripe age of eighteen.

So now I'm here, anxiously tapping my feet on the ground now that I'm alone, my parents words ringing in my ears. They're scared. They both looked close to tears. It made me want to take it back, but it's not like I have an option. And now that they're gone it only makes me feel like I _did_ make the right decision. I'm not spending the rest of my life living like everyone else. I can't. I'm not meant to be another piece in the machine, happy with spinning around helping the Capitol until I'm sick with it. I haven't exactly figured out if the death games are the best option instead of it, but I made my decision.

Lazari bursts through the door in the next second, descending on me before I even have a chance to stand. He wraps his arms around me, strong even though he looks otherwise. Four years my senior, we look related, but not by much. The hair's the same. I'd bet that I have more muscle than him. It's Corvis that _really_ looks like my brother, tall and strong and approaching the level of pissed off my Dad was encroaching into.

Looks like I'm in for it again.

"I'm fine, Laz," I tell him earnestly, when he finally pulls back. He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, figured that. I'm not, though."

"You could have told us," Corvis breaks in, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to pull off the pissed-off look while not causing any real damage. It would work if I haven't spent the past 18 years making him piggyback me around.

"I could've. But then one of you would have physically jumped the barrier and tackled me to the ground," I point out. I glance at Lazari out of the corner of my eye, who smiles sheepishly. The image is way too easy to picture.

"I don't understand why you want to throw your life away," Corvis says quietly, and when he looks at me, really looks at me, I see the same image of fear that was in my parent's eyes. It's weird, coming from him. He's the serious one, the strong one, the one that holds us all together.

"You don't know I am," I tell him. I put a smile on my face. "You're the one who taught me how to throw a punch; you're telling me you don't think I can do it?"

"I know you can," he says simply. "That's what scares me."

I don't think either of them are prepared to see their baby sister kill to save herself. Maybe that's it. Maybe they thought they'd be able to protect me their whole lives, watch over me like they think they're meant to do. But they couldn't, not forever. The illusion just ended quicker than either of them thought it would.

"Listen to me," Lazari says. He puts a hand on each side of my face, smushing my features together. The scowl I send his way doesn't work in the slightest. "The Careers scare me more than you killing people does. They're not working anymore, not until someone figures something new out. So you know what I'm going to tell you to do?"

"Not really."

"Fuck it up."

It takes me a second to realize what he means, and by then Corvis is grinning.

"You don't like what's going on?" Laz continues. "Screw it. Do your own thing. And take as many of them down in the wake as you can."

I shake my head in exasperation, but I'm smiling too. That's who we are. We don't sit back and take what we're given. Or at least I don't. I said I wasn't going to sit here and take this life, and I won't take the crappy hand I'm dealt in the Capitol. If they want a show, I'll give it to them.

My parents took so much time that the Peacekeepers are already peering in the doorway, informing the three of us that time's up. Lazari hugs me again, quick but tight, arms crushing my ribs. Corvis takes his place the second he steps back. He's quiet, but I can feel the reassurance he's trying to transfer to me. He's scared. Hell, I'm scared. But I can do this. Everyone knows I can. It's up to me now.

 _Kick their asses_ , Corvis mouths at me as the door slips shut. I grin. As if I'd have it any other way.

Maybe this life isn't for me. That's why I had to do this - to find out if I'm meant for this world or not. If I lose, I guess I won't have to find out. But if I win ... if I come back ... I can change things. I can become someone else. I can figure out where I belong, no matter how far away it is. There won't be any limits left to explore.

There'll be nothing but me and the world at my feet. Just like it's always supposed to have been.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

Dad's not talking, Mom's barely realized what's happened, and Sabrina looks like she's two seconds from punching someone or something in the face.

My family's never been out there, per say, but we're definitely not conventional either.

I don't think Dad really knows how to react. He's always working. Hurt, exhausted, he doesn't care what he has to do to take care of us, even if that means not knowing who we really are. He still thinks I take walks at night with friends instead of figuring out what I really do. I can't say I blame him. He's trying to provide, just like I am. So what if he works in the fields and I do the Peacekeeper's dirty work. It all works out the same way.

"This is bullshit," Sabrine grumbles under her breath.

"Don't curse, Sabrine. There's no reason to," Mom says softly, plastering a calm smile on her face.

"There's no reason to? She just got reaped, do you realize where she's going, she's going to _die_ —"

"Hey," I interrupt, putting a hand on each of her shoulders. She turns to me, eyes half defiant and half terrified. The feeling's mutual. " _Someone's_ gotta win. Who says it can't be me?"

The look in Sabrine's eyes is showing that she wants to tell me exactly why she thinks it won't be me but doesn't have the heart to. She casts her eyes down to the floor, avoiding my gaze, and stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. I continue smiling at her, a little sadly, waiting until she looks back up. When she does she finally pries her hands lose and wraps her arms around me. She's way too strong to be my eleven year old sister. I can't blame her. I grew up way too fast, so it makes perfect sense that she'd follow in my footsteps.

I hook my chin on her shoulder and tighten my arms around her. "Listen to me. Keep working. Don't take any shit from anybody. You'll get through this."

"I know what you've done," Sabrina says, and for a second I think she's going to blurt out everything. "Thank you. For trying to protect me. For trying to protect all of us."

I nod, and for a second I feel tears spring to the corner of my eyes.

"Don't get into it. Promise me."

"I won't. Promise."

I release her. She wipes her eyes quickly, ducking away from me before I can get a good look at her face. Mom steps forward and hugs me, smiling sunnily like she always does. It's getting harder to keep the same smile on my face, but I have to. For her. I got my optimism from her, my smile in times of trouble from her. I can't let that stop now. Dad steps forward and kisses me on the crown of my head, wrapping an arm around Sabrine's shoulders. She ducks away from him, still looking furious and saddened, and ducks out the door ahead of them.

Mom waves. I smile back at her. Dad wishes me good luck. I keep smiling.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I let it disappear.

Why? Why me? Even if I do have the confidence in myself that I can win, why did it have to be me? After everything I've been through, every minute of life that I've fought for, and now this? Nothing good ever comes from me trying.

I'm sitting on my own for all of a minute and a half when I hear more voices on the other side of the door. I stop toying with my necklace, letting it drop back against my chest. I guess I would be taking it was my token, but the second I recognize one of the voices in particular, every thought of _that_ drops out of my head immediately. And not two seconds later, just as I'm getting to my feet, Phil opens the door like he owns the place.

When he catches sight of the annoyed expression on my face his smirk grows to an infuriating size. He tucks his Peacekeeper helmet under his arm, looking all too smug about the situation.

"Who's going to do my dirty work when you're gone?"

"You should try it out for yourself. Get some dirt on your hands. See how it feels."

He laughs. "Well, that's no fun."

We lapse into something that's more awkward than a legitimate awkward silence. He spends most of it staring at me, head tilted to the side curiously. I spend most of it wondering how it would feel to throttle him.

"Looks like you'll have to find a new play-thing," I inform him. "Sure there's plenty of them around."

"Like your sister? If she takes after you, I'm sure she'd be great at it. Then again, you follow orders. She doesn't look like she would."

I'm going to lose my cool in the next second, and I rarely do. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened because of him.

"If you touch my sister, and I come back, you'll—"

"I'll what?" He asks, obviously amused. "Get dragged into an alleyway? By you? I mean, don't you do that enough to random, unsuspecting strangers? Sure, it's for some cash, or to get another meal on the table, but I've watched you watch enough people die to know that you don't really want any of that."

In a split second, I grab the chain around my neck and rip it off. The look on his face is that of surprise when I hurl it at his feet. I still remember when he gave it to me, not a week after I met him. He had looked so entertained when I had accepted it, put it around my neck. That was the first time I agreed to corner someone for him, dragged them into a field and watched them die at Peacekeeper hands. I've never looked back.

"You underestimate what I'll do to survive. You always have."

Phil smiles. I put an identical one on my face just to watch his falter.

Everyone's always underestimated what I'll do to get by.

Guess they're all about to find out.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

There's an extremely strong chance I would've started crying if Gizelle hadn't showed up when she had.

As soon as she walked in I buried it as deep in myself as I could, of course. She doesn't know I hate myself more often than not. It's better than she doesn't. I don't need to see her sad too. She's done more for me in the past two years than I deserve. At this point we're more like siblings than best friends, but I have a pretty terrible definition of what family really is.

"I wish it had been me," Gizelle says softly, leaning against my side. I attempt to look at her through the mass of red curls on my shoulder. I can barely see her face, but the way she's slumped against me says enough.

"Don't say that. You're too good for them. Besides, these looks gotta be good for something."

Gizelle snorts and sits up, wiping a few tears off her face with one hand. She tangles the other with my own.

"Yeah, sure. Seduce all those sponsors."

"What about the tributes?" I ask.

" _Abel_ ," she laughs. "You better not."

"It'd be funny to see," I say honestly, and she laughs again, tipping her head back against my shoulder. It would be funny. Finally, I'd have something I'd be good at and actually be in control of it. Usually it's other people pushing me around and putting their hands on me, but maybe it's finally time for it to be the other way.

"Seduce your way to victory," she hums thoughtfully, even though I know she disapproves. "That's got to have been done before."

"Too many cameras," I point out. "I'll figure something out."

I fall quiet and she follows, still humming something under her breath. I don't know how long I can sit here before I do start crying, before the impending hatred for myself creeps up. Maybe it'd be better if I was dead. I'd finally be free of everything here, of everyone who's paid me to do something I'd rather forget. The worst part is I've really become that person. I can't even find the energy to stop myself or take a look around and ask what I'm doing. As long as I end up in a bed, warm and in someone's arms, I'm alright.

I think. Probably not. At least not by normal people's standards.

There's a soft knock on the other side of the door. Gizelle sits up, eyes furrowed in confusion. I didn't think there would be anyone else. She's all I had, the only person that's kept me sane. Who else would even bother?

My parents walk in. Right. I forgot about them. Though after barely seeing them for two years, it's not hard to imagine why.

Gizelle must get the connection immediately. I've always looked exactly like my father, even if I wasn't quick to admit it. She squeezes my hand and stands up, looking boldly at the two people who raised me that she's never met, not even once. It's a wonder, with how protective she is, that she hasn't started yelling at them.

"I'll go. I love you, hey? Maybe think about tweaking that strategy a little bit."

"You don't have to go," I tell her quickly. She raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't move. My father looks at our joined hands and coughs deeply.

"You finally changed?" He says gruffly. My mother continues hovering awkwardly at his shoulder, like she doesn't know where to stand, if she should move closer, or do anything at all. After practically disowning me, it's a miracle she's here at all. Maybe she does care. Maybe she just feels bad. Probably the latter.

"Nope," I inform them bluntly. "Still gay as all hell, unfortunately. So is she, if that helps."

My father freezes, looking very obviously between both of our heads, like God's going to strike down and set him on fire if he so much as looks at either of us. Gizelle's face is as bright as her hair. I think she's trying to disappear into it.

"Don't. He's not worth it. Just ignore any opinion he has," I advise her. She doesn't say anything, but I also notice she doesn't let go of my hand. If anything, her grip only gets stronger.

"I wish you wouldn't speak like that." Looks like my mother is finally getting an opinion. To be honest, she's looking at me a little sadly. Like she is finally regretting pushing me so far that I just up and left when I was sixteen. That they cared so much about something I couldn't control I'd rather be on the streets than with them. And maybe it did turn me into a different person, but I'd rather be here than with them.

"This is the life you want? Living on the streets, throwing yourself at strangers to survive? You're a disgrace, you're—"

"Going to be dead soon," I finish for him. "So it really doesn't matter. But at least I'm not you."

The rage on his face is something else. Without another word he grabs my mother's arm, much tighter than he used to when I still lived with them, and storms out. I raise both my eyebrows; I was almost positive they'd last longer than that. Gizelle's death grip on my hand doesn't let up.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. I shake my head, stand up, and pull her into a hug. She buries her face in my shoulder, shaking a little.

"If I get that far and the cameras end up here, don't let them play the loving parents angle. Give 'em hell."

"Just like always?"

I smile. I wasn't lying. I'll probably be dead in a week. Maybe two. If I make it that far, it'd be a miracle. But I have to try - for Gizelle, and for myself. Maybe I can finally drag myself out of whatever the hell gutter I've ended up in. If I come back, if I last even a little bit, I'll just prove my parents wrong yet again. I can survive. I have, and I will, with or without them.

"Just like always."

* * *

 **Mireya Daltier, 16 years, District Three Female**

* * *

I don't know how my mother will survive if I'm not here.

I've watched her destroy herself for so long that I'm usually scared to leave her alone for five minutes, and now I could be gone forever. It sounds ominous. If I'm gone, she probably won't be far behind, dead with some sort of needle stuck in her veins, or maybe she'll slip into a coma and never even know what happened.

I wish I could say I was sick of it. Wish I could escape the fact that I became the head of the house when my dad left four years ago, wish I could say that I wasn't the one keeping us together, but I am. There's too much responsibility on my shoulders, and I've just learned to accept it. I don't mind it, most times. But now, staring into my mother's glassy eyes while Amias clings to my leg, I'm terrified for them.

Amias' grabby, six year olds hands reach for my shoulder, and I have no choice but to hoist him up until he's resting against my hip. I keep a firm grip on him with one arm and keep my other hand clasped between both of my mother's. She hasn't let go since they got in here. I can't say I'm surprised. There's probably still a little bit leftover from whatever she took last night; her eyes are barely focused on me. She knows what's happening. I watched her react to it in the square. But now I think she's just shut herself down. It's probably easier.

"What's happening?" Amias complains, burying his face against my neck. "Why's mommy look so sad?"

"She's not. She's just tired. Make sure she goes to bed when you two get home, alright?"

This is what I'm doing. Telling my six year old brother to take care of our Mom because I don't have any other choice. He probably doesn't even know _how_ to get home. He does know more than I wish he did, though. He's woken up his fair share of nights to me cleaning up some mess or other, seen enough to question what's wrong with our mother. I wish I could protect him more. The only thing I've protected him from so far is the Games, and now I can't anymore.

"Why? Where are you going?" He pulls back, eyes wide and frightened. I squeeze him around his side, hoping to get a smile out of him.

"Just away for a little bit. But I won't be gone that long, don't worry."

"I don't want you to leave. Who'll pick me up from school or go with me to the park?"

I don't know. I don't know how he's going to survive either. Someone might take him away, put him in a home or an orphanage. There's a chance he'd be better off there anyway.

The door opens softly, just a few inches, and Riela squeezes her way inside. My best friend looks nothing but sad, watching me hold Amias up while my mother continues staring at the opposite wall. Riela doesn't even bother working around Amias, just wraps her arms around the two of us. A few stray tears drop onto my shoulder, startling me for a moment. I knew she'd cry, but it still gets me.

"Riela can take you home," I say confidently, looking over at her for reassurance. She nods silently, the corners of her lips lifting when Amias looks minutely more at ease now that I've said it.

I gently put him down, watching as he hauls himself up onto the ornate chaise next to my mother. Riela continues hovering by my side.

"I'll make sure they're okay. I know you're worried, so I'll—"

"I'm not going to die," I say suddenly. Watching the two of them, looking at my closest friend - nothing's ever felt so obvious. "I can't die. I won't."

Riela nods frantically, tears still dripping down her face. She won't make a sound, though. She's always been that way - her quiet and me loud. I'm the one that defends the people who need it, who fights back when something harsh is said to either of us, who makes sure that we're fighting for what we believe in. She's always been too quiet for her own good. I think about what would happen if I did die, how she'd probably go so quiet people would think she's mute.

"I'm not going to die," I tell her, more firmly this time. "Because I have you guys. And I'm too much of an insufferable, stubborn asshole to die. People will be running _away_ from me, not towards me. I'll make sure of it."

"People already do," she says with a watery laugh. She's not wrong. I'm about as friendly as a snapping turtle to people I don't know and only open up once I think people are worth it. Not many people are. I'll find the people who are and push away everyone else. I'll take my allies and we'll run through everyone. And then at the end, when I'm there, I'll be able to take everyone left down. I'll be able to win.

It's a nice dream for a girl like me, barely there in a sprawling District. It's not an illusion, though. Sciel Romero did it four years ago, and it's about time someone did it again. It looks impossible, but it's not. I know that better than anyone.

"Please come back," Riela says weakly. She still won't look at me. Apparently my little spiel didn't do wonders to her confidence in me. Does she not know me? I've always taken charge, done what has to be done when no one else will. But I've also sat on a park bench with my brother's head in my lap day after day, talking about the past hours and wishing for a world we couldn't have.

"I always do."

I always bounce back, always keep caring, always hold everyone up.

I've always been there, impossibly real and striving in a world where I shouldn't be, and I sure as hell don't plan on stopping now.

* * *

These are just getting weirder as I go on, I know, you don't have to tell me.

I'm still having lots of fun writing them, though! I'm always really inspired right at the beginning of things because I like figuring these guys out. It also makes it easier for me to envision the worst (and most fun way) to kill them all, which admittedly sounds terrible, but it can't be helped. As always, reviews are much appreciated, especially if your character was in this one or you just feel like making me, a review whore's, day. Also, a completely useless fun fact: as far as I remember I don't have a single straight dude in this story. It's pretty fantastic.

Until next time.


	7. Is Love Worth It?

Goodbyes, Part Two.

* * *

 **Viscaria Cortese, 16 years, District Twelve Female**

* * *

I'm still in the state of mind that what just happened didn't actually happen.

Like three days ago, I had a dream about getting reaped. And I laughed. And eventually everyone started at me in confusion for so long that my laughter finally died down and I woke up. When I did my heart was racing with fear but I had laughed a little, lying back against my pillows. There's no chance. There shouldn't have been any chance. I had no tesserae. No one in my neighborhood does.

It shouldn't have been me. And just my luck, I can't stop crying.

My Dad has had me wrapped in a hug since they got in here, sitting side by side on the sofa. Mom's crying even harder than I am, which is a feat in itself. Kylan and Acantha are standing side by side in silence, barely looking at me. Both of them have always been quieter than me. They got Dad's genes and I got Mom's, I guess, even though we all look the same, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. We look like nothing bad should ever happen to us.

Thanks, fate.

I remember when I was little, how Acantha would let me sit in her bed and read me a story or tell me about how her day at school went. She was only two years older but it seemed so far, when I was that small. She told me she would protect me, that she wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. So much for that.

Suddenly, the vicious anger to remind her of that rises up. Which I know I shouldn't, but it's already happening.

"Remember when you said that you would make sure I was always okay?" I spit at her, and my voice isn't nearly as threatening as it should be when my throat's half-closed up, but I don't have any time to waste. "Remember that? Where'd that loyalty go?"

"Vis, c'mon—"

"Don't. Don't bother. You don't want to die. I get that. Because I don't want to die either. The only difference is I don't get a damn choice in the matter."

She won't look at me. Dad releases me, slowly, like he's afraid I'm going to get up and cause even more of a scene. It's not a far-off possibility.

"What did you want me to do? Volunteer? You couldn't expect me to just get up there and throw my life away."

Of course not. Because she's the golden child, has been since I had enough mindset to realize that my parents paid more attention to her than they did to me. She's the one who gets good grades in school, who participates in sports that three quarters of the Districts can't even afford to watch. But there's a difference between us. Acantha doesn't have the strength to get through things when they get hard. She quits, gives up. I'm the opposite. I only fight back harder. And maybe I ruin family dinners almost every time they actually happen, but they were asking for it.

Kylan doesn't care enough, as evident by his increasingly-annoying silence. Acantha's a quitter.

My mother and father only care about me and look after me when I'm about to get shipped off to my death.

The realization doesn't sting as much as it should. Maybe because I've always known, somewhere deep down. Maybe because I don't really care.

"Please just leave," I sob out. My father's hand leaves my back quickly, shock overtaking his features. Mom sniffles, wiping a hand over her face.

"What?" She asks.

"I said," I say determinedly. " _Leave._ You're not helping."

Everyone stands there in silence for a few more minutes, staring at me like I've grown a second head. Then, Acantha scoffs, muttering something under her breath, and leaves. Mom calls out after her, but it doesn't stop the door from slamming shut, the sound echoing around the room. Kylan hesitates, staring at me like he's struggling with the decision, and then makes for the door.

"You don't have to be like this," my father bites out. It's obvious he's trying to get back to the loving, hugging his daughter to comfort her type of man before his patience wears any more thin. I do that to him more often than he likes.

"Viscaria, please," my mother pleads. She puts a hand on my knee and I scoot away. The tears are still leaking from my eyes like no tomorrow, but I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of showing her how terrified I really am.

"I just want to go," I mumble. "There's no point to this."

I'm ready to leave. I'm ready to face my mentor and my District partner and the entire Capitol. Even though I feel the terror in my veins like nothing else, the Capitol's got nothing on Twelve. It's all glitz and glamour, no gray skies or street vermin. How can it be any scary than what I already live with?

I shrug my Dad's hand off my back and stand up. "Try not to miss me too much."

"Viscaria, wait—"

I'm out the door before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.

That's not standard protocol. I lean against it, effectively trapping them inside for a few more moments. Acantha and Kylan are gone. No surprise there. The few Peacekeepers milling around the hall eye me down, wondering if I'm trying to make a break for it or simply just done with the entire situation. The former is tempting, but I know I wouldn't make it five feet.

Besides, there's no point in running now.

Might as well face it head on.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

It's like Iridium all over again.

She'd be 25, now. Nine years ago. She died nine years ago, and I can still remember her laughing the night before the reaping about how amazing it'd be if we were Careers, if we could volunteer with the best of them, volunteer and win. Only she got chosen without a second thought and she didn't win, because I watched her get cut down in a split second. Fourteenth place. Not even close.

I also remember my father telling me that I should train. If it happens to a family once, it can happen again. Statistically, it does. Just to see how they'll react. I don't think he actually knows I did, when he was off on his business trips. We may not have any real weapons in Three but we've got stuff that's close. It wasn't hard. If District Ten can train to prepare their kids for the inevitable, then so could I.

There's no increase in noise outside the door to announce my family's arrival. Meridian steps through the door first, followed closely by my parents. Neither of them look ruffled in the slightest. I've been trained to do that better than anything else. With my father's prominent spot in the District as a successful businessman, we're in the public eye more often not.

Iridium was the one who taught me how to act, how to behave around others. She was always so proud of me, always smiling down at me. Everything I am is credited to her. And maybe a part of me left, when she died, but it hardened me. Gave me the resolve I needed to move forward.

Meridian steps forward and hugs me tight. She shoves something small into my hand, and I take a step back and open my fingers. It's a simple, twine black bracelet. The same one Iri wore into her Games. I didn't even know she kept it.

"I figured maybe one of us might need it one day ... didn't know for what. Maybe we're cursed," she laughs softly. She opens the clasp and fastens it around my wrist, only taking a moment to tug it into place before she pulls me back into a hug.

I shut her out for so long after Iridium died that it's almost a relief, being this close to her again. It only took her realizing that there's a strong possibility she's going to lose the last sibling she has left and she can't do anything about it. I'll have to settle for it though. Whether I end up like Iri or not I have to say goodbye.

"Don't let them forget about me as quick as they did with her," I mumble against her hair. My parents got over Iridium's death like it was nothing, like she was barely their daughter. I'd hope they wouldn't forget about me so easily, but I doubt it.

"We didn't forget about your sister," my father says gruffly. He looks a bit guilty, but not afraid to talk about it.

"Maybe not. But you stopped caring."

"We had to move on. You had to move on, you and your sister. It was better that way."

Better to forget the person that basically raised me and Meridian when he was away on business trips and my mom was too busy socializing with people to work her way up the ladder. He's just the way he is, though. There's no point in being bitter about it. He barely realizes he's doing it.

He steps forward and claps me on the shoulder, embracing me with one arm. It's a step above how he'd greet a fellow businessman. It's something, though. Him telling me to train paid off, after all. Looks like I'll be able to do something good with it. I learned long ago that holding a grudge against him won't get me anywhere, anyway. It's not worth bottling up everything I feel and finally exploding, one day.

My mother steps forward and hugs me more warmly, although she looks as put together as ever. When she pulls back, after just a few moments, she looks satisfied. Like she'll finally have something to be proud of if I come back. She smiles, so I give her one back, just to watch the few worry lines between her brows disappear. There I am. The son that sits back and is content to smile and play whatever part I'm given, so long as I can. My sisters were always louder, more inclined to stand out than I was. But I was fine with that.

I knew, somewhere deep down, that saying goodbye to them wouldn't be anything emotional. I still wish it had been. Iridium's was. Maybe they forgot about me the second the left and accepted that I was as good as dead, just like she is.

My friends already came and gone. Lavenne cried, almost hysterically, while Neam and Flint stood huddled together, watching her pace across the room in a horrified silence. It hurt, seeing them like that, but at least I knew they cared. For all I said I don't think I'll be forgotten. I'll give Three a chance at victory, my family an opportunity to be even more prominent than they already are. Maybe they'll start caring more, if I come back.

When I'm finally led out of the room and into the hallway, Mireya's wiping away tears that are just about to shed, pushing them back the second she sees my calm, blank face. She looks at me, almost accusingly, like having the audacity to not cry or show any emotion is a crime.

"Not much to say goodbye to?" She mutters under her breath. She almost sounds envious.

"No," I say, almost as quietly. "Everything."

* * *

 **Arella Trinett, 18 years, District Seven Female**

* * *

Everyone's standing around like it's a funeral.

I'm not going to deny it and say that I have the best shot in the world. But I know for a fact that I don't have the worst. And now that I'm here, I might as well make the best of it. I could come back a victor, help District Seven prosper in one of the only ways it can.

If I win, I can come back and be with Andie, and no one will be able to stop us.

She's currently wrapped in my arms, trembling like a leaf. I think she finally hoped that we'd be away from all of this, get through it and never look back. It seems like we had the same idea. The weight of the ring I bought is weighing heavy in my pocket. It was supposed to be nothing but us, after this, nothing but freedom and the rest of our lives.

I unwrap an arm from around her back, reaching into my pocket. Andie doesn't move from where she's currently face-planted into my shoulder, although it's not like I really expected her to. I draw the band out of my pocket, watching it catch in the light. It's nothing extravagant. I didn't think we needed something flashy in our relationship. Audrey and Deviryn, standing behind Andie's back, catch sight of it. Both of their eyes widen, but Audrey smiles. She might as well have guessed it, judging by the expression on our face.

"Hey," I say quietly, leaning back from Andie. "Look at me."

She does, quicker than I expected, although she wipes frantically at the tears falling down her face first. I smile gently, pulling both of her hands away to hold in my own. She doesn't notice the ring until it brushes against her hand. When she finally does she pulls apart my fingers, eyes widening almost comically. Her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. I keep smiling, until a laugh escapes her.

"Was going to do it after, y'know, when we had an after. Don't know if we will anymore."

She nods frantically, pressing a hand over her mouth. I slip the ring carefully onto her finger. That only makes the tears fall down her face faster, but the smile on her face is beautiful. I'll never be able to forget that smile.

Andie leans forward and hugs me again, kissing me warmly when she pulls back. I hold onto that moment for as long as I can.

Audrey and Deviryn have already said their goodbyes. All of us knew that once I had Andie in my arms it was going to hurt more than anything to let go. She finally steps away, although still keeps a firm grip on one of my hands. Deviryn steps forward and hugs me one last time, shaking almost as hard as Andie was. When Audrey finally gets the chance to again she's not crying, barely shaking. But we've always been that way. Stronger than we should be. Six years older, Audrey basically raised me. I don't know where I'd be if I didn't have a sister like her.

"Take care of her," I whisper to Audrey. If she raised me she can take care of Andie. Audrey nods against my shoulder.

The door swings open. Deviryn jumps out of the way, whipping around towards the open doorway.

It's my mother.

There's almost a full minute of silence. Audrey steps away from me, like she'll try to shield me from her wrath. I've never been scared of her, though. There's no point in being scared. All she does is ruin and criticize and take away every ounce of our happiness I've ever dared to have. I can still remember when I was closer to her than anyone, even Audrey. My mother _was_ my best friend, in every sense of the word. And she ruined it.

Her eyes finally land on Andie and I's joined hands.

"All of you, leave," my mother grits out. " _Please_."

Andie's hand tightens around mine, panicky in it's movements. Screw my mother. She doesn't matter. I pull Andie back, for one last moment, and kiss her. Half because I want my mother to know that she doesn't run my life and half because I'm selfish and don't want to let her go. She pulls her hand out of mine, slowly, like she's the strong one for once. Audrey wraps an arm around both of their shoulders, holding tight to my closest friend and my girlfriend, and leaves.

Which leaves me alone with my mother.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" She bites out, looking close to furious.

"Better than you know. I'm making my own decisions."

The sting of her slap barely registers.

I remember a time where she would never raise a hand against me, where she'd rather hurt herself than one of her children. It looks like that doesn't matter anymore.I turn my head back to her anyway, ignoring the burn against my cheek and what has to be a bright, red hand-print across my skin.

"This is your fault," I whisper. " _You_ pushed me away, _you_ gave me no choice! Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love her—"

"You don't know what love is!"

"And you do?" I ask. "Because what you're doing right now isn't love."

She freezes. Through the anger written across her face I notice the clenching of her hands, the way she's holding herself tall, shoulders back. Like she's afraid of me lashing back out like she just did. No one else would notice it. She probably doesn't even notice she's doing it. Just me.

"Why her?" my mother questions softly. "You've always put yourself first, made sure you were the one that got further. So why her?"

I don't even have to think. "Because she's worth fighting for."

It's true. Andie's worth fighting for, more than anyone. Audrey and Deviryn, too. Usually I don't like to let that show. Love, and fear of loss, they're weaknesses. But I won't lose them. Not now, not ever. I'll do whatever I can to get back to them.

No matter what the cost is. I won't lose them.

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

Usually I try to avoid Alisha and my parents being in the same room.

My life would probably be a whole lot easier if the whole secret girlfriend fiasco didn't exist, and that's putting it lightly. My mother sticks her nose in enough that it's easier not to have Alisha around. Eventually she'll figure out that Alisha's an airhead who I've never even kissed and use purely as a cover-up so they think I'm straight.

And that's telling the story in an _easy_ way. So sue me if I'd rather not have all of that come out.

I love my parents, I really do. It's just easier, having them not hate me. My mother's social standing also makes sure I'm always in a good position in the Academy. Then again, it's not like I had much competition. There were only two other guys even considering volunteering, and one didn't show up to the choosing ceremony. Probably chickened out. The other guy is a hell of lot smaller than me and two years younger. I was the obvious choice.

District Four hasn't had a victor in ten years and it's starting to show. Everyone's more tense at the Academy. People aren't running up to the stage like they used to.

I need to bring that back. There's no way in hell I'm letting Four fall into shambles, even if I have to scream loud enough for all of Panem to hear me to do it.

"I can't believe you're doing this," Alisha exclaims. She looks so happy for me. Probably because she's never actually paid attention to the Games. "Aren't you nervous?"

I look behind her, towards my parents. My mother is watching attentively, looking at me like she's making sure I say the right thing. My father looks like he couldn't care less. He's standing a solid five feet away from anyone else, looking out the window. Oh well.

"C'mon, me?" I laugh. "You think I'm scared? There's no way. I got this."

"You look scared, though," she complains, like she's personally offended by my _own_ attitude about _me_ volunteering. I'm not scared of the fact that I did it, though. I'm scared for her to ruin everything that's going on right now and have my parents walk out of this room like I'm a plague on the family instead of proud of me.

"I'm _not_. Don't worry. I'm coming back," I tell her confidently. I even take her hands in mine, for good measure. She smiles like she's won the lottery. You'd really think she'd have noticed that I haven't kissed her. Once. Every time she tries I duck out of it with some excuse or other and she forgets what she was trying to do a prompt two and a half seconds later.

"I think it's time for us to go," my father says dismissively, completely out of the blue. I don't think it is, really, but I just don't think he cares. His relationship with my mother has never been the greatest and to be honest, I just don't think he has the energy. He claps a hand on my shoulder, as warmly as he can manage. I hug my mother, who goes stiff as a board, but hugs me back anyway. When I finally get back to Alisha I lean down to hug her, putting as much enthusiasm into it as I can manage. It's probably not much, but she still throws her arms around my neck, happy as ever.

When I pull back, my mother's eyebrows knit together. She stares at me, waiting. With a sigh that probably manages to reach her I lean down and kiss Alisha on the cheek. Her face lights up, yet another smile gracing her features.

"See you when you come back!"

I nod, raising a hand in farewell. She all but skips out of the room away from me, not a care in the world for my safety. She really does think there's no other option but me coming back. It'd be nice, having someone believe in me like, if she wasn't an idiot. And besides, it's not like I really need her. I have the confidence in _myself_ to do it, and that's really all that matters.

A Peacekeeper comes to collect me a few minutes later. I think they care less about me and more about Lynn, who is the obvious wildcard. I, on the other hand, think it'd be kind of funny to see her punch someone again. I know better than to underestimate her, though. I've never seen her training but the glare she gives me when I come up to her side is something else.

"Play nice. No need to be hostile," I inform her. She rolls her eyes.

"I thought that was the point of the Games. What point is there in being nice?"

I let out a loud laugh. Half the room turns to look at me. Lynn continues watching me curiously, shaking her head. I haven't quite figured her out. Something in her eyes is telling me she knows me, already, and it'd be slightly disheartening if it was true. She doesn't though. Everyone always thinks they know what makes me me, what makes me tick. They're almost always wrong.

"Guess we're going to find out. You have it in you to actually play the game?"

"Who says I'm not already playing it?

I stare down at her. She stares back, just as defiant. I thought she'd back down, sooner, or not even try to get up in my face. She's not a traditional Career by any standards, she shouldn't have the will to. Maybe I _have_ underestimated her. But I do know something. Even if it is going to be me alone at the end, it'll be better to have her with me. District loyalty, and all that. If she thinks she'll have to fight tooth and nail for the Careers to notice her and I accept her, just like that, I'll already have her trust.

Geting Lynn on my side - t's like something my trainers would say. People who know what they're doing. People who have won.

And I'm going to be one of them.

* * *

This chapter was alternatively titled, "Rich Kids/Well-Off Kids Have Terrible Familial Relationships, The End". Seriously, though, I did not mean for a second for this to be the theme for this chapter, but here we are. Oh well.

Only 8 left to go, how lovely. I hope thus far everyone thinks I'm doing a well enough job with their characters because if you don't think so and you haven't said anything too bad. And again, thank you for all of the reviews, as always I appreciate each and every one I get and if I wasn't so ridiculously lazy I'd reply to all of them. But if you have legitimate questions I'll get around to them eventually.

Until next time.


	8. No Mercy

Train Rides, Part One.

* * *

 **Cerise Telvarri, 18 years, District One Female**

* * *

"Do you ever talk?"

Duke continues staring out the window. He's either doing a mighty impressive job at ignoring whatever I'm saying, or he's tuned out entirely.

"You know, your friend isn't that bad. What's his name? Alistair?"

Nothing.

"Why'd you even bother volunteering? You're going to turn out just like your sister."

He turns to me, slower than I expected to. It's still a victory. He stares at me, blankly, but I know something's bubbling underneath. I can't help but smirk. For a long moment, it's almost like a stare-down. It doesn't even look like he's really trying to win, though, so what point is there to it all?

"Is it your goal to ruin people's days?" Duke questions. I shrug, leaning back against the couch. Not usually. But it's fun to fuck with him. Even if he does do a damn good at remaining unruffled at everything I say. Something will get a reaction eventually, that's been proven. Now I just have to find out what _really_ makes him tick, what'll get a reaction that's actually worth something.

The television has been playing the reapings over and over for the past hour. It's on District Four for the third time. I watch again as the girl punches someone in the face, blatant terror very obvious in her eyes, and then the boy takes the stage, the perfect air of confidence surrounding him. Typical and not. One's always had the privilege of being far up on the ladder - I mean, look at me. Four hasn't always had such opportunities.

"Do I have to ally with her?" I complain, leaning over the back of the couch. Ivory's eyes flick from the television back to me.

"No. She's probably useless; putting on a show. Not worth risking yourself for her unless you want a meat shield."

"You don't know that," Duke interjects. Ivory glances at him, barely a second of her time, and rolls her eyes.

It's not even two minutes later when Valiant comes back from whatever he's doing and my fun's ruined. Ivory will let me do whatever I want, but I know he won't. He's the no fun, boring mentor. If I even tried to say something remotely terrible, he'd stop me with no hesitation. I don't know how I'm supposed to fight off the boredom with him around. Unless ...

"Hey, Valiant?" I call across the room. "Is there a reason you _wanted_ to mentor Duke? I mean, if he's as useless as his sister, then there's really no point. And even if he isn't—"

Duke gets up and leaves. Well then.

"That was not my fault," I object. "I wasn't even trying that time."

Valiant sighs and leaves the car after Duke. Ivory snickers. See, it's so much more fun with the two of them gone.

"Do I have to ally with _him_?"

"Not unless you plan to use him as a meat-shield as well," Ivory says thoughtfully.

Which, admittedly, is tempting. But I know I shouldn't waste my time on Duke. Lynn looks like she'd be more fun anyway. The Twos look good enough, and the Four boy. And there are enough outer-District volunteers and just strong competitors in general that if we want a bigger pack than that, it won't be a problem. I just wonder how tricky it will be to actually shove Duke out for good and to convince everyone Lynn is a definite no-no. Then again, if I take control of them, they won't have a choice. And if any of them fight back on it, I'll put them in their place.

"Find someone you trust that's useful. Have at least one person who will have your back that's still disposable, if it comes to that."

The thing is, Ivory's right. I know that. But I don't trust the three remaining Careers as far as I can throw them. Seren will probably fight me just to say she did it, Meritt's probably less willing to talk to me than Duke is, and Elias looks like he wants my leader spot. And it _is_ mine, in case anyone wasn't already aware of that. That means, though, that I have to find someone else, who will never have enough training as I do who's also infinitely more terrified.

Great.

"How'd you do it?" I ask Ivory. "Put everyone in their place, I mean. You were the leader."

"You're also forgetting I killed every member of my alliance when they had finished serving their usefulness. You don't have to lead them. Just make sure they don't see it coming."

All five Careers, dead at her hands. And then she killed the Seven girl in the finale, like it was nothing. Sixteen years ago, and I've still seen it so many times I can't even keep count. Because she's legendary, because what she did ensured that everyone would look at her like she was untouchable for the rest of her life, that they would recap it at the Academy so all the kids knew what they were aspiring to be.

I already feel untouchable. Now I just have to let everyone know it's true. If only there weren't so many damn people standing in my way.

I know for a fact if I'm going to get anywhere close I'll have to tone it down. Obviously that isn't the most entertaining route to go about things, but I'll have my fun in the arena. Which means I'm not allowed to a) ruin anyone else's day (maybe) and b) not allowed to ruin Duke's day even more. But we'll see about the latter. If I have no choice but to end up with him I'll be damn sure he never hears the end of it.

"Do I wanna know what the look on your face is?" Ivory asks curiously. "Or should I just not bother?"

I didn't even know I had a particular look on my face. But I think I figured it out. More than just how to lead or how to get it to work in my favor. How to win it all. I thought I knew, before. But I can see it with even more clarity now.

Time to put on the innocent smile.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

I'm going to throttle Kal.

To be honest, I'm surprised I've lasted this long. Of course, he doesn't know I'm going to throttle him, because I like to consider myself an unusually patient person. He, however, is testing my limits.

"So, are you the same Alana whose brother got shot in the Square two years ago? Or is there another one that I don't know about?"

I turn to him, expecting him to look away. Most people do. The glare usually does the trick, or if not, just doing it for long enough will make them look away. Kal won't, though. Cooper and Dyna keep glancing between the two of us like they're waiting to see who will get out of passive-aggressive mode and really go for it.

"Different one," I tell him. He smirks. He knows I'm lying.

"Is there something I'm missing here?" Dyna interrupts. She looks at me, as if waiting for an explanation. She's sure as hell not getting one.

"Her brother got arrested. What was it? Charges of theft, trespassing, legitimate homicide and butchery. Among other things. Put a bullet in his head while she watched. I watched, too, actually, with half the District. It was gross."

That's it. Fuck being calm and patient. I had to deal with the stares and whispers for the past two years, ever since Slade died, but no one outright like this. They were too scared to. They were right to be. Kal Arker apparently wants to find this out the hard way.

I leap out of my chair, dead-set on accomplishing something close to murder, because I'm going to save that for the actual thing. Cooper gets between us before I even make it halfway to him, and glaring over his shoulder at Kal really isn't the most threatening. Cooper grabs me by the shoulders and all but forces me back into the spot I'd been sitting previously. He waits a moment, backing up to see if I'll make a move. I stay put. For now.

"I want both of you to listen to me. No one said you have to be allies, or even work together. But we're going to have to at least make sure you both make to the actual Games. And that will not help if one of you kills the other."

Kal waggles a finger at me. "To be fair, I didn't do shit. That was all her."

I was being generous with the threat of throttling him. But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. For now. I know what fear does to people. He's probably terrified. The look on his face is saying otherwise, but I know terror when I see it. I've seen it in enough eyes before they went dead. Another thing I've learned is that in the grand scheme of things, other people don't matter. It's only you and what you'll do to survive.

All I've done these past few years is do anything to survive.

These games don't need fighters. Just survivors. All those outer-District kids that end up winning, most of them don't go into it expecting to win. How many of them thought they had a chance in hell?

I know I do. So that already puts me one step ahead. Now I just have to figure out what part of the equation to fit myself in. Which one will get me out of there?

Cooper notices my gaze trail off Kal and towards the TV. He follows my eyes. They're showing side by side images of the supposed Career tributes. The strongest ones. Who says I'm any different than them? I've killed more people than they have. I know how to hurt better than they ever will. I've experienced it first-hand and learned how to not care when I do it.

"Why did you volunteer?" Kal asks suddenly. I'm almost sure he knows, or at least has a good inkling, but wants to annoy me to death before the actual thing even starts.

"So people like you leave me the fuck alone."

"It's not _my_ fault you're a felon, either, you know."

"I'm not a felon."

"My mistake. Convict. Criminal," Kal mutters under his breath. "Gun-slinging outlaw."

Dyna hits him over the back of the head before I even think to get up and do it myself. She looks amused, though. It's infuriating. This can't be a joke to them. I'm sitting around two people who have killed too, who have won something almost impossible to win, and they just don't care. I wonder, all of a sudden, how many people think it would be better for them all if I just died. No one cared about Slade, either. It was an act of justice for all the people we took down, for all of the things people suffered at our hands. But Slade didn't have a choice. I did. I volunteered. I'm the one who saved an innocent kid from this, I'm the one that has a shot at winning.

It's always been this way. But no more. This is mine. Not anyone else's. Not Kal Arker's, not the Careers. Fuck them all.

"They won't care what I am," I say quietly, still staring at the television. Kal leans back over the chair to look too. It's on District One, again.

"What, the Careers? Have fun with that."

Oh, I will. And I'll enjoy the last look he manages to give me just before I kill him even more than that.

The things I've seen, and the things that I've done - maybe they've all been leading up to this. My last shot at true freedom. If I die, I die. But I know, somewhere deep down, this is the only chance I have left. District Six would have killed me eventually. I'd like to see anyone in the Games try to even touch me. And if they do, well.

I'll be sure to go down swinging.

* * *

 **Kian Harvey, 15 years, District Five Male**

* * *

There's a series of clatters through the wall, followed by a single swear, and then absolute silence.

I thought Kole had retreated to her room hours ago to sleep, but apparently she's been doing the same thing I've been, which is pacing endlessly and doing anything but. I open the door to my own room, peering out into the hallway. It's almost dark. I don't think anything's been going on for hours, except the fact that both of us are completely unable to do anything useful.

I close the door behind me and step over to Kole's.

"Hey," I call. No point in knocking to check if she's awake. "Can I come in?"

There's another long moment of silence, and then the knob turns under my hand. Kole opens the door, smiling sheepishly.

"Yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"Nope. Not sleeping either."

Kole opens the door the rest of the way wordlessly, letting me in with no complaint. You can tell just by looking at her that she almost always does things by herself - maybe it's the whole one arm thing, but she's always looking to prove herself. I remember when it happened, a few years back. Shit happened all the time at the factories, regardless of how capable people were or not. It's just that the casualties were usually older people, not someone who was fourteen. That was one hell of an introduction into the working world for me.

My eyes land on the mess on the bathroom floor when I walk in, random bottles and God knows what scattered across the floor. The top shelf of one of the numerous cabinets is empty.

"Didn't think it was that tall," Kole says, by way of explanation. She looks embarrassed.

"Do you want me to—?"

"No. It's alright. Thanks, though."

I figured the answer would be no, but thought it was worth asking. She's one of the few nice people I've talked to, recently. Way too nice and pleasant, when she shouldn't have any reason to be. Maybe it's a reflex, because man do I get smiling when there's no reason to.

I plop down in an armchair across from the bed, waiting for her to finish cleaning it up. It doesn't take as long as I expected it to. She comes out of the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bed, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arm around them.

"So, why can't you sleep? I thought volunteers were immune to that type of stuff."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Thought so too. Turns out I was wrong. About a lot of stuff."

I thought I'd get at least an ounce more respect if I volunteered. Turns out the Escort just think I'm suicidal and is blaming me for his career going down the tube. I know Lumin and Demica think the same thing, whether they're mentoring us or not. So there's District Five for you. Me, with an apparent death-wish, and Kole, whose got one less limb than everyone else. It's looking great.

"Care to elaborate?" Kole asks. She looks so earnest about it. I can't remember the last time someone actually was, with me. So of course it's all going to spill out in a way I definitely don't want it to.

"It's just - nothing ever goes the way I want it to. Admitting my feelings, everyone thinks I'm disgusting. All because what, I like guys instead of girls? It's not a crime, except all of my friends and family think it is. And then I decide hey, volunteer, maybe it'll get better. Maybe you can win and prove them all wrong. I'm already getting doubted, even here, and if that Escort opens his damn mouth one more time—"

"I don't think it's that that he cares about. No one here cares about that. He just thinks you're a little ... stupid?" Kole tries. "I don't. It's your choice. I commend you for it, if it's what you want. But you have to stick with it now."

"No shit," I mutter. It feels wrong, to be even the slightest bit rude to her. Jesus, what is happening me? Five minutes of sitting in here and the walls are already coming down. Pretty sure she'll figure out I'm not just a sarcastic asshole with feelings that are about as stable as an earthquake soon, if she hasn't already. I know she's right. I can't go back from this. I don't want to. If I win, I can go back to Five and prove to everyone that I'm just as strong as they are. Stronger, even. They'll have all the facts in front of their face. Even if I know my choices are slim, death doesn't look like that bad of an option.

It's better than living like this.

"I'm just sick of being treated like crap," I whisper. "I'm sick of being alone."

There it is. Everything I've spent two years hiding from people is out. Kole should get a prize.

"You're not alone. Or at least, you don't have to be. Not here."

I don't even see her get up, not when I have my face buried in my hands, like I'm trying to physically push the feelings of self-loathing out. I just need a few more minutes, and I'll kick myself out of it. I'll put the walls back up and no one will have to know this ever happened.

By the time I lift my head out of my hands, Kole's standing just in front of me, arm extended. I stare at her hand.

"We've both got things to prove. They might be really different, but it's true. So what do you say?"

She knows me, all of me that I'd be willing to let out, and she still won't walk away. It's a nice feeling. The last time someone cared like she did ... it was a long time ago. Call me stupid, call me suicidal. They can call me anything they want, now. It doesn't matter.

I shake her hand.

* * *

 **Magne Cohen, 17 years, District Eleven Male**

* * *

"Hey, Magnum?"

"That's not my name."

"Magnus."

"That's not it, either."

"Well, your real name is weird. Why bother with the 'G' if it's pronounced 'main'?"

Sinora's nervous. She's trying to be optimistic about the situation, but I think she expected something different from me. It's not my fault I am the way I am, though. Her expectations were set too high. I'm not some exhausted, submissive field worker. I couldn't be farther from that. I hate to say it, but Sinora's beneath me. I have always gotten along better with girls, though, so maybe this could go somewhere.

"Would you like to be allies?" I ask, as earnestly as possible.

"No."

I pause. Well, that wasn't the answer I wasn't expecting.

"That was awfully rude," I inform her. She looks over at me, amused.

"You say that like I care."

Apathetic. Acting like she doesn't care, when I know she obviously does. How much of this girl is a show?

"And why don't you want to ally with me?"

"I don't need people like you dragging me down," she says simply, shrugging. "You look like you never go outside, you use more hair gel than our Escort, and you're prettier than half the girls in my grade."

I fail to see how any of those are bad things. I like being put together and well-off in a District full of mongrels. That isn't a bad thing, and it certainly isn't my fault that I was born into the family that I was. I have the genes and the position to fit myself in wherever I want to, and I did just that. Sinora having a rough go at life is now apparently a strength. I'm the weak one here. Or so she thinks.

"Well," I start. "You're so skinny because you never have enough to eat, the bags under your eyes says you clearly don't have enough time to sleep, and the look on your face is saying you wouldn't mind punching me because you'd know exactly how to. So whose the real winner here?"

I smile when she has nothing to say in response. My smile is also better than hers. I should've added that to the list.

"Me," she finally says. She looks up at me, smug as can be. "Because everyone knows you're a delusional, rich kid, and no one ever wants to protect those types. They're the ones who die first because they have no idea what fighting for what you want really is."

Maybe I never had to fight for anything, or even say more than a few words to get what I want. But I also know how to put people where I want them and how to use that to my advantage. Sinora's another piece on the chessboard of this game, one that can be moved and manipulated just like everyone else. She doesn't know it yet, but I'm ten times the person she'll ever be. I've already amounted to things she can only dream of.

Sinora stands up, crosses over to me, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Word of advice. Don't over-analyze people in the Capitol. It's not as cute as you think it is. Also, you won't be so great when you're dead."

Well, isn't she just Miss. Personality. When I first met her she seemed sweet and optimistic, eager to jump into things. Apparently Sinora Floyd has two very different sides about her. I just have to figure out where both of those sides work in the grand scheme of things.

I watch her leave the room, leaving me alone in the Dining Cart save for the Escort, whose been sitting at a table in the corner tapping away at a tablet since we started talking. Without a word I leave my chair and perch down on the table next to her. She glances up at me, only for a second, and then goes back to whatever she was already doing.

"You know, you could do with a little more concealer," I tell her. She looks up at me, silver eyes narrowed.

"Don't you have something better to be doing? Like being anywhere but here?"

"Not particularly," I share. "And I'm just trying to help."

I think her name's Sersha, but either way, Sersha does not look impressed.

"Believe me, my great-great-grandfather was a stylist for the Games. My whole family takes after him, me especially, I know what I'm talking about."

"I severely doubt that," Sersha says flatly.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"I have the certificate to prove it. Just wait here, I'll go get it."

Sersha lets out a huge breath the second I get up. I trot down to my room as quickly as I can manage. I brought the certificate with me for a reason. I _knew_ no one would believe me. But he _was_ a stylist, and one of the best, if I know anything about my family. Maybe it's not the best token, because I don't know how well I'll be able to carry it around, but I'll be sure to keep it as pristine as possible.

I grab the certificate off the desk in my room, where it had been laying flat under a few different items to keep it that way. The Peacekeepers wouldn't let me bring the frame it was in, insisting it was a weapon. I don't know why they'd think I'd ever use something like that to hurt someone, but I've also never tried to understand their mindsets. They think awful things.

By the time I get back to the main cart, Sersha and her little tablet her gone. Her chair isn't even pushed in. I sigh and drop myself down into the chair myself, laying the certificate down on the table. I lean my chin into one of my hands, staring down at it.

If he can be great, so I can. Maybe not in the same way, but this family has been destined for greatness and they're not always on the same path.

I just have to find the people to work with me.

* * *

Trains are here, choo choo.

I'm lame. Anyway. Only one more chapter to go until everyone's got their first POV! Once we get to the Capitol the POV layout will be a little different. It'll (mostly) be the same as the way it was in FoB, minus the fact that I hate writing interviews so I'm not writing as many this time around. Any questions, feel free to ask. As always I'm thankful for the weirdly interesting cast I got this time around and appreciate everyone who reviews to let me know how I'm doing so far, you guys are great.

Until next time.


	9. Questions

Train Rides, Part Two.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

I didn't have time to plan this whole scenario in my head. No one gave me any time.

What I do know is that Seren wasn't supposed to volunteer either, just like me, and that Cicely Arlington is more than a little pissed off about it.

She's been on a tirade since we got on the train. It's no short of a miracle she hasn't passed out from lack of oxygen, let alone that she's still going strong. Ashlar's been in the same chair since we boarded, snickering quietly. We're both quieter than the girls. Seren's jabbed back at Cicely a few times, and it's only made things worse. I think Seren's just as amused, though. I don't know why Cicely even bothered mentoring, if she's never going to shut up about it. There were other people who could have done it.

Besides, it's not like Seren's a bad prospect. I'm taller, but I wouldn't be surprised if we had the same amount of muscle mass. I'm nothing impressive to look at, but that doesn't mean I couldn't come up with about 40 odd different ways to kill someone, with say, a pair of scissors.

The Career system in the Districts is flawed. They always go for the most obvious, for the ones who look like they pack the most punch. They almost never have anything in their heads, and that kills them.

That's not how I've been raised, but then again, the way I was raised isn't how most people are. The brain always has to come first. If it doesn't, then everything else falls to the floor, and in the next second, you're dead. You don't get a choice.

"You," Cicely says suddenly, rounding on me. I stare back impassively. "I've never even seen you in the Center. She, at least, knows what she's doing. Where the hell did you come from?"

Nowhere she needs to know. Nowhere she probably even knows exists.

"Look at the two of you, ruining someone else's chances at victory."

I tune out the second she says it. The girl that was supposed to volunteer was 18, so it's not like she can volunteer next year if she still wanted to, but she was loud. Offensive. No filter. Someone would have gotten tired of her eventually, if not five minutes into the Games, and would've killed her. The demise of the Careers would have started with her. Ajax Savros was lucky I volunteered from him. 200 pounds of muscle and nothing else, that's what he is. He never would have made it.

I know how to make it. I have made it. There's no point in letting others volunteer when you can take one look at them and know they're battle fodder. I've seen too much of that in my life.

It's not like I'd be a perfect victor. It's not even like I have a desire to really be one. I do have a desire to make things interesting, though, and they like interesting better than anything else.

"You know she's got a point," Seren wonders. She perches on the arm of my chair, looking down at me. "I never saw you either."

Not a surprise.

"I know you're quiet, so you don't have to get into it if you don't want to. I'm just curious. Got a deep, dark past, Trevall? Or just something you'd rather not talk about?"

"Both."

Seren waits, like she's expecting me to say something else. She keeps waiting. Eventually she looks up, towards where Cicely is now staring out one of the windows, mumbling something under her breath. Probably something offensive that she shouldn't say. I don't know why she's bothering. She hasn't had any fault with being rude so far, so why should she keep it to herself now? None of it's going to hurt me.

"Well, that was a fun conversation," Seren mumbles. She swings her legs off the chair and hops off.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask suddenly. She pauses, half-risen, and looks back at me.

"Why'd I do what?"

"Volunteer."

Seren stops, looking thoughtful. It's easy to tell that she doesn't have a specific reason either. It's not spite. She didn't know the person she stole the spot from, at least not well. It's not because she wants to prove herself. There's no need for that in her life. So what is it, with her? Is there anywhere she fits?

"I want something more," she settles on. Cicely rolls her eyes. I've heard worse things, though.

"Great. Greatest reason ever. Perfect. That's what I have to work with."

"I think you're over-reacting just slightly," Ashlar interrupts. Cicely turns around, gives him the finger, and promptly removes herself from the room. Seren snorts and reclines back against the chair, shoulder almost brushing mine.

"Alright. I answered. Now you, Mysterious Man."

"I have a job to do," I say simply. That's what I was told. That's all I know. It's the same thing I told Kane at the goodbyes, while he stared at me in silent horror. He's going to blame himself for everything that happens from here on out. I saw it in his eyes. I hope he doesn't.

"That's ... vague. Interesting, but vague." Ashlar states. Seren nods, but doesn't say anything. "Care to elaborate?"

I can't elaborate. That's really all I know.

They don't get it. Not many people really do, though I can't blame them. All I've known for so long is following orders, eliminating threats, doing what I have to do survive. This is just another mission I was given. It's one I intend to carry out in whatever way I have to. I should probably tell Ashlar not to bother - that there's nothing he can do for me now. Tell Seren to just stop questioning it, because there's no point. That's a lesson I learned early: questioning never ends well. It's something that got beaten out of me when I was young, too young to even understand it then. But I get it now.

I didn't question it when they told me to volunteer.

I wasn't planning on starting today.

* * *

 **Siung Jang, 15 years, District Twelve Male**

* * *

I wonder how long it'll take for someone to ask me how _I_ feel about all of this.

Viscaria's made enough fuss that Ashara and Cade are more concerned with her than they are about me. I don't dislike Viscaria, though. We're just very different. She cried, for a little bit, and then she was angry and now she's just silent and stony-faced, sitting next to me at the dinner table and only occasionally sparing a glance in my direction.

"Are you alright?" I ask softly. She turns to me, mouth molded into a frown.

"Peachy," she all but growls. I watch as she stabs her fork more violently than necessary into a piece of chicken. Ashara sighs.

"She doesn't mean it, don't—"

"I mean it," Viscaria growls. She's a difficult one. I'd long to fit in with her, to be more like her, but on the other hand, would I rather be like her right now? Angry and sad and terrified to die? I always wondered what it would feel like, to get reaped, to have to walk up to the stage and pretend like nothing was wrong. Ashara already told me she can't even remember how she reacted, just that it wasn't good. From what I remember watching, Cade looked like he wanted to die right on the spot.

He made it back, though. It only took 23 years for Ashara to bring someone back with her.

I pull the marble I brought with me out of my pocket and roll it between my fingers absentmindedly. There are so many things to factor in to someone winning. I wouldn't even know where to start, what questions to ask. There are a million running through my head already, and not one seems more important than another.

"Viscaria, can we—"

"Vis is fine."

"... Vis, then. Is there anything we can do?" Cade asks, carefully. For a second it looks like she'll snap at him, too, but then she deflates.

"Not really. I'm just tired," she informs him. "Also, how are you so calm about all of this?"

It takes me a second to realize the latter part of her sentence was directed at me. I continue swirling my fork around my plate, clutching the marble tight in my other hand. I wouldn't say I'm calm necessarily, just ... accepting it. Accepting it like so many other people have. The worst part of my mind is saying there's no point in fighting. What chance do I have, anyway?

"I'm not calm. I just appear that way. I'm going to die. How do you think I'm going to die?"

Everyone at the table goes abnormally still. Cade continues eating after a moment, looking very much like he's going to ignore whatever he thinks it is I just asked.

"Throwing knife to the stomach," Viscaria says abruptly. Ashara chokes on her drink.

"Excuse me?"

"He wanted to know. I answered. I don't know, though. It also could be something super weird. Like attacked by diseased birds or something."

"I'm pretty sure that's actually happened," Cade interjects. Ashara goes from staring at us to staring at him.

"What?" He questions. "It's true. Forty-sixth, I think."

Ashara rubs a hand over her forehead, looking pained. Viscaria grins. I think it's the first time I've seen her smile.

We seem like complete opposites, but maybe we're more alike than we both know. Chances are, we're both going to die. I know there's a part of me, deep down, so deep that I've somehow managed to bury it already, that knows it's going to be painful and terrible and I won't get a choice. But at least then I'll be able to stop asking all these questions. I'll be able to stop wondering how it's all going to end.

"What other weird questions do you have in that head of yours?" Viscaria asks, leaning forward to peer at me. I shrug.

"Uh. None at the moment."

"Alright. How do you think _I'll_ die, then?"

She doesn't want to die. Chances are, she probably doesn't even want to talk about it, but this is the only thing we can think of to make ourselves smile. Turn it into a game. Make it seem like it's not real. There are none that really fit her too well, though. Unless ...

"Talking yourself to death, probably."

Viscaria laughs, leaning back in her chair. "Probably. Unless I talk someone else to death first."

There's an amused smile on both of our mentors faces, but it's better than them just being sad. I don't want them to be sad about us. And there's no point in being broody about it myself. I do that too often. I know it'll happen again, but I'll try my best to get out of that, to keep the chip off my shoulder and enjoy these last few days. I'll try to figure out as much as I can before it happens.

Viscaria grabs my arm, suddenly, and drags me up and out my chair. My fork clatters to my plate and I hurriedly tuck the marble back into my pocket.

"You're mine now. Think of another question, we're gonna go find someone to ask."

"Does this mean you're allies?" Cade asks. Viscaria looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. I simply shrug. I don't really care. I do like her, though. She's good company, though, and one of the few people I've found in my life recently that seems to care and not question why I do the things I do.

"Yes," she decides suddenly. She smiles, huge and bright, like she's just won a prize. I'm not a big smiler, but I find one tugging at my lips anyway. It'll be good, not to be lonely in the Capitol, and during the Games, if we make it far enough. It'll be nice to have someone to depend on, and to have someone who actually wants to be around me. It's been so long I almost forget what that's like.

I just thought of another question. How quickly will these Games break this feeling I just rediscovered?

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

"You don't have to doubt yourself."

I look up at Kellen from my perch in the window seat. He takes a seat across from me quietly, folding his legs in front of him. It's hard to believe he's only four years older than me when he looks like he's gone through centuries worth of terrible things.

"Is is that easy to tell?" I ask quietly. He shakes his head, staring out the window.

"Nah. Almost everyone does. Even the Careers doubt themselves."

"I'm not a Career though."

"No, you're not. But no one else knows that. You've trained - maybe not to the extent they have, but you still know what you're doing. And they're arrogant. You have the sense not to be."

That helps, but just a little bit. A lot of them are arrogant. But when you sit back and look at the grand scheme of things, that doesn't always matter. How many of them have won, in comparison to the outer-Districts? In comparison to Ten? They have every right to be arrogant - there's proof of it.

It took almost twenty years for the Career system to evolve into something legitimate. And now three years, and I'm expected to be the same as them?

Maybe I can kill. I've taught myself how to. But doing it without remorse, without guilt ... I don't know if I can do that.

Oxen comes into the room silently, one of Tacia's hands on his back. He glances over at us quickly, and then back to his own mentor, like he's unsure. Tacia nods, and once she finally does he makes his way across the room and sits down silently on the couch just next to the window. I smile at him and he ducks his head. I think he's been holed up in his room most of the day. I can't say I blame him. After all the attention we got after the reapings, he probably just wanted to be left alone. He caused a spectacle, to say the least, what with him volunteering. No one would even know my name, if he had volunteered before I had been chosen.

Chosen. Like it's something I'm supposed to be grateful for. And looking at the rest of the field, chosen along with 23 other people, most of which outshine me in some way or other.

I can't keep thinking like that. Better yet, I need to sit up and think of some way to combat it. Maybe I'm not the most outstanding, but I was one of the first kids to start training when Kellen came back. Me and my brother. We were never going to be volunteers. We just wanted to be prepared.

It's a good thing I was.

"I hope you both know," Tacia begins. "That if you ever need anything, you can come to us. We're like a family in Ten, us victors. So don't hesitate."

It's sad, but they can't really give us any advice. I've pretty much learned any sort of thing I'll need to learn in some sort of capacity, and they both know that I'll do whatever I have to in the Capitol to complete that. Oxen hasn't shown any signs of wanting to fight back. Maybe he knows that there's no point.

He's so young. So innocent. He saved someone's _life_. And look at the thanks he gets. They're going to kill him anyway, because they don't care.

"Wanna tell me something interesting about yourself?" I lean over towards Oxen. He finally looks up at me, nervous and unsure. Both of our mentors watch him as well. He really is something of a spectacle.

"I, uh, I can make good fires. We had to get rid of the waste on the farm and it was easier than carrying it. At least for me it was."

I think that's the most he's said, at least directly to me. This time, when I smile, he gives me one back.

If he can standout with one sentence, by volunteering without even thinking about it, how hard can it be?

"I think I have an idea," I say suddenly. They all turn to look at me, this time. Kellen raises an eyebrow.

Kellen didn't join the Careers in his year because they didn't trust him, but we've given them no reason to in past years. If they're as fragile as they have been, then it won't be hard to force a crack in the group and slip myself in. Find someone who trusts me. When I started training, Dad always praised me on being able to act quickly. I could figure out how to wield a situation to my advantage, to change how I look at things.

Ever since then that's all I've been doing, whether I wanted to or not. They never see me coming.

And who's going to see me coming when I'm surrounded by the biggest competitors in the arena?

"You never said I had to be a true Career. What about acting like one?"

"Not the first time someone's tried," Kellen says immediately. "It's not easy."

"That's because they didn't know how. You've been trying to get us into the Career mindset for years. No one's really had to change to try it out since then. Why not start now? If I have to be the first, I will."

He looks a little impressed; maybe not at the idea, but at the willingness I'm putting forth. It's a simple enough idea. He's just never had anyone try to execute it.

If I screw up, I die. I'm not stupid. I know that. But I like to think, now, that my father praising me for being so versatile is what's going to get me through it all.

I chance a look over at Oxen. He looks a little sad. I think he knew somewhere deep down that us being allies couldn't happen. But he doesn't look sad at what I plan to do, just sad in general. About what's going to happen, possibly to both of us.

He made his decision. And I've made mine.

Now I just have to follow through with it.

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

I think if I ask to go to sleep one more time, Kiero's head is going to explode.

To be honest, I think it'd be funny. Rover, however, would probably think the opposite.

He's been following Kiero around like a lost puppy since we got on the train (which he is) and saying the most ridiculously happy things (which he always does) but it's still one of the most annoying things I've ever witnessed in my life. Hence, the sleeping. All of this would be ten times better if someone would just let me go to bed.

But they won't. So I'm stuck here. As if the situation weren't shitty enough.

"Are we ever going to do anything of actual importance?" I drawl, kicking my feet up on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Everyone stops, turning to look at me. Rover, for all I've been complaining, actually stops his hyper-optimism long enough to actually study my face.

"And what do you want to talk about?" Mia asks. She waves her hand at me, like she's opening up the field. Might as well.

"How do I kill someone?"

"With your background, I'm surprised you haven't already."

I grin. Rover's the only one that looks worried.

"I don't know why everyone assumes that, I mean—"

"Probably because you're the daughter of the equivalent to a drug kingpin and your family terrifies anyone who looks at them the wrong way," Kiero mentions. Well, he's not wrong. Can't fault him for saying it. Rover, however, visibly pales, like it's some sort of big secret.

"Thought we left this shit in District Six," Mia mutters under her breath. She turns to Kiero. "Also, you're on point with the sass lately kid, keep it up."

He gives her a thumbs up. Some of the colour returns to Rover's face. It looks like it's all going good. I'm just waiting for something to ruin it, because this can't last forever. I'm not ashamed of who I am. The way I'm raised will probably give me a hell of a better chance than the rest of the gang, volunteers included. When Rover stepped onto that stage, I wanted to laugh. I don't know him, not like his friends do, if he even has any. All I know is that he's gone through the only three family members he had - first his mother, then his grandfather, and then his drug-addicted dad. At least he didn't have to watch his dad die at the gang's hands. My Mom participated in that one. The clean-up wasn't a pretty sight.

He got the shit beaten out of him, pretty bad, a few years later. Someone had the bright idea to leave him in an alley. And now he's working at the hospital with Healey, smuggling out morphling whenever someone even walks towards him. We barely have to ask. It's too easy, with him, like we're playing with putty in our hands. He's the perfect candidate really. Annoying, maybe, but I've dealt with worse.

Rover's staring at me. I grin, as terrifyingly as I can manage. Much to my surprise, he doesn't look away.

"Is anyone going to answer me?" I question. "Or can I go to bed."

"There's not a guidebook for it," Kiero informs me. Thanks. Like I didn't already know that.

"Especially not for you," I add helpfully. "Considering you didn't want to."

"And you're saying you do?"

"Not really. But I'm not going to hesitate."

That _might've_ struck a cord, but he's doing a spectacular job at hiding it if it did. I know what hesitating did for him, and none of it was good. It doesn't matter if I was twelve when he won. I'd seen enough by that age that I still would've done more damage than he did.

"Go to bed," Mia sighs. _Finally_.

I leap off the couch, waving over my shoulder, and disappear down the hallway.

It takes me a second to realize that there's someone behind me.

The temptation to just turn around and hit him is strong enough, but I figure putting Rover in a heap on the floor won't do wonders. I still whirl on him, faster than I think he expected, and he takes a step back, wide-eyed.

"How may I help you?" I hiss between my teeth. Maybe he's just dealt with it enough that he doesn't back down. Maybe the smile on his face is extremely, _extremely_ forced.

"I, uh, I mean - do you hate me?" He all but stammers. I roll my eyes.

"I literally don't even know you." Which is a lie. But he doesn't have to know that.

"I just, you kind of seem like you don't like me, and I don't want you to think that I'm some sort of—"

"What?" I finish for him. "Wimp? Weakling. Here's a news flash for you: everyone is to me."

Rover visibly deflates, like I just popped a hole on the balloon that is is ability to be a try-hard. The thing is, I don't think he's just trying. I think that's how he really is. There's a part of him that got so fucked up because of what the gang put him through that he shoves it down and puts on the blinders to everything terrible in the world. I don't think he's really realized he's going to die yet. The thought might have occurred, but it's not a concrete thing for him. Not yet.

But that means something. He saved Morris Healey's life without a second thought, when he heard the name called - a kid who wouldn't even call him a close friend. If he'd do that for Morris, what would he do for me?

"You want me to like you? You want to help me?" I say suddenly, ignoring his frantic nod. "Be my ally."

He freezes. It only takes him a second to regain his composure. "Alright!"

Well. That was easy.

It only takes me a second to shoo him away, far from my room and back down the hall. He looks over the moon.

I haven't quite figured out what I feel yet.

Still annoyed, definitely. But now I have an overzealous shield on my side.

Perfect.

* * *

#getmeto100reviews

And with that, the first round of POVs are done!

From here on out, it's 2x 3 POVs for Chariots, 3x 4 POVs for Training, 1x 3 POVs for Interviews, and 1x 3 POVs for Launch (which I didn't do in FoB, but I learned the hard way that I absolutely detest writing interviews, so I'd much rather try my hand at writing that instead. Either way I've got ideas.). As well, I feel like I should apologize for all of the super early alliances happening, but with everything that forms in the Capitol, some of it need to happen early. So not sorry. Another apology that I probably am not that sorry about - if you think I'm being Purposely Vague™, I probably am.

There is a **poll up on my profile**. Use as many options as you want. Vote for everyone, man, I don't care, go nuts. Preferably keep it to like 6-8 but I really can't control what you do. If it doesn't show up right away on my profile, be patient with it. We always know how FFn is with its updates.

As always, let me know your thoughts on this chapter!

Until next time.


	10. I Didn't Come To Lose

Chariots, Part One.

* * *

 **Magne Cohen, 17 years, District Eleven Male**

* * *

I thought people in the Capitol would be ... I don't know, nicer?

I know that most tributes don't always have the best experience, what with them holding all of their resentment towards the Capitol for their current situation. I can't say I do. This probably was meant to happen to me, so I can't find any room to complain. I just thought that if it _was_ meant to be, everyone would be treating me better.

Apparently not.

I've already told them the costume's hideous. They're either offended, ignoring me, or done with my everything. Usually, it's a combination of all three.

One of them, Gena, has expressed (several times) that she wants me to shut up. I wonder if she's friends with Sersha.

I think I'm supposed to be a meadow, but then I question why there are various pieces of fruit hanging off my arms. I know Sinora does questionable things off in the fields in her spare time, but I have no idea why I have to stoop to that level of pathetic. I should have something more refined. That, or at least professional. No one's going to take me seriously this way.

I squint at myself in the mirror.

"This eyeliner is a different green than the costume."

"Thanks for the observation."

"Are you going to change it?"

Gena pauses, a hand in my hair. She puts another on the side of my neck and tilts my face back, so I can look her straight in the eye. She smiles widely. Her teeth are funny looking. Also, her nose is humongous. I wonder if anyone's ever told her.

"If you continue taking issue with how we do things, you can do it yourself. Got that?"

"I'd rather do it myself," I mutter under my breath.

Before I realize what's happening, Gena lets go of me. She grabs one of the other assistants by the arm, drags them out of the room, and slams the door shut behind them.

Well. At least I got my wish.

I don't know if my main stylist is coming back any time soon. I think he was annoyed with me too. I have no idea why. I'm just trying to do my best and make sure that I look good. They weren't doing that, at least not to my standards.

I jump out of my chair and start rummaging through the assortment of things laid out across the desk. In seconds I find an eyeliner that's at least slightly closer to the green on my costume. See, that wasn't hard. Why couldn't they have just taken a few extra seconds to use this one instead?

I almost poke myself in the eye with the pencil when someone opens the door a minute later. I would have, if I hadn't had years of practice.

It's not Gena. It's not my stylist either. It's the Eight guy.

"Can you please knock next time?" I ask him. "It's rude.

"Uh," he says intelligently. "I was just, uh, l-looking for, uh, nevermind, I'll go."

"Looking for what?" I inquire. I stare at him in the mirror.

"My partner. They didn't tell me what room she was in, so—"

"So you just came barging into mine?"

He looks terrified. Every person I've talked to since I was reaped has looked annoyed. I was beginning to get used to it. But him, on the other hand...

"What's your name?"

A little but surprised, now. "Rover. Well, Rove is fine, I mean, you don't have to call me that if you don't want to."

"Rove," I smile. "Nice to meet you."

I hold my hand out to him, keeping the eyeliner clenched in the other. Rover smiles and quickly takes my hand. When he steps back, he wipes his sweaty palms across his pants, looking around.

"Just give me a second," I tell him. "And then we can go."

Rover obviously has a multi-second long internal crisis over the _we_ part of that, but doesn't leave. He just continues looking around while I finish the job. Most of the time he's staring, probably wondering what the hell I'm doing it and why I'm doing it alone. He doesn't question it, though. I didn't expect him to. If he's already running around looking for his District partner then he's probably reliant on her.

Too bad. I'm stealing him. I need _someone_ to follow me around and do what I want, and by the looks of the rest of the playing field, I've got slim pickings.

"Alright!" I announce, throwing the eyeliner down on the desk. They can clean it up themselves. "That's as good as it's gonna get. Let's go."

I've never seen someone so enthusiastic to go be possibly publicly-humiliated before, but I've seen a lot of things here I didn't expect. Still, Rover follows behind me, compliant as ever.

As soon we walk out into the starting room, I catch sight of his District partner. She's impassive, staring at me, until she catches sight of Rover mere inches behind my back. Her blank eyes quickly turn into a glare. I know there isn't much chance of keeping Rover away from her, but it'll be interesting to see how he reacts.

Sure enough, as soon as he sees her, he stops walking. And then, he turns to look at me, like he's asking for _my_ permission to leave.

"See you tomorrow?"

Rover nods and jogs off across the room towards his chariot. The girl completely ignores his approach, instead continuing to glare daggers at me.

I raise a hand and wave, smiling cheerily. Rover must notice her expression, because he follows her gaze. He waves back at me.

Maybe this won't be as hard as I thought. Sure, almost everyone's cast me aside, but even if I can ruffle a few feathers, get a few people on my side, it won't be too bad. Maybe they will be people like Rover, who follow orders unquestioningly, but that's what I want.

That's what I _need_ to get through this.

* * *

 **Mireya Dalter, 16 years, District Three Female**

* * *

I think Larz is laughing at me.

I also know he's trying not to, because he looks away every time he so much as cracks a smile. I should tell him not to bother. He's usually pretty subtle, but he isn't even close to it right now.

All three members of the Prep Team have unbelievably long names that I don't have the energy to remember. My stylist's is even longer, but he's been running in and out of the room at such high speeds that I've barely even gotten a good look at him. Once he almost bowled Larz over entirely, and it was my turn to cackle.

I think it would be more effective if we weren't giant light-bulbs.

If we're technology, and we're light-bulbs, then what the hell is District Five supposed to be?

"Did you steal District Five's idea?" I ask bluntly. One of the prep team hushes me. I'm taking that as a yes.

 _Help me_ , I mouth at Larz. He shrugs helplessly. They've been scraping my hair into some sort of massive up-do for the past hour. He escaped the worst of it. I wonder if his team was nicer. He looks about as outrageous as I feel, but oh well. Guess we'll have to look stupid together.

He asked me if I'd like to be allies, last night, and I don't even know why I said I'd think about it. He's nice. He's keeping me company because he knows I'll snap if I'm left alone with them. Maybe it's because I'm worried that I won't be able to take him out, if it comes to that. He's taller than me, stronger than me, probably knows what he's doing better than I do. Maybe it's just because we're so fundamentally different as people.

Even after all of that, though, I think he might be worth it.

I thought it would be harder to find people I could trust, but maybe this is the world finally giving me something easy, for once.

The hands in my hair still all of a sudden. I cross my fingers in my lap, praying mentally. _Please._

"I think we're done," Long-Name-Number-Three says. _Thank you_.

Someone sprays a cloud of hairspray over me as I stand up, leaving me spluttering in the middle of the room. I pointedly avoid looking in the mirror as I walk by it. There's no way I want to see what I look like. I'll suffer the stares of everyone else not knowing, thanks.

As soon as I stand up I realize wobbling is easier than actually walking. Larz might have the advantage, being taller, but I think he's having about as much fun with it as I am.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter under my breath. Larz, for his credit, tries to smile.

"Figured it would be like this. We just have to deal with it. It won't be too much longer."

I want it to be over now. I know Larz is speaking from the realistic side of things, just like I should be. But it's getting hard. I just keep thinking of Amias, and of my Mom, and how Riela's handling taking care of them when she should be taking care of herself.

I should be there. But I can't think like that, either.

"I was wrong, yesterday, telling you I'd think about it. We should be allies. I was just too stubborn to realize," I tell Larz, while we're walking across the starting room. He had previously been engrossed in looking at all of the other tributes, but now he looks down at me.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm serious. I think we should."

He smiles, ducking his head. I hope he knows that means a lot, coming from me. I was snapping at him, even, on the train, and he had done nothing wrong. It only took me a little bit longer to realize that he wasn't the enemy, and that if someone like him who was strong and confident without trying wanted me as an ally, then I should get over it and work with him.

And I really do think I could work with him.

"Do you think this stuff is breakable?" I ask him, poking at the light-bulb shell thing encasing everything but my face at the bottom of the legs. It's not exactly glass, more like a substitute, and I didn't bother asking.

"Probably," Larz muses. "If you hit it hard enough."

I raise my hand into a fist and smack it off the front of my costume as hard as I can. A small, barely-there crack appears under my knuckles, which coincidentally hurt like hell. I grin, though. Larz sighs and grabs my arm.

"Oh c'mon, let me do it."

"Please don't."

"You know it'd be funny."

"I _know_ that they'd be pissed," Larz explains. "Please don't."

Maybe he's realized he's going to have to do damage control for me if we stay together. But maybe it'll work out - it'll make him open up more and me actually listen, for once in my life.

As soon as he makes sure I'm not going to damage my costume any further he hops up into the chariot without making himself look like a complete idiot. He reaches down a hand to me, trying to haul me up without breaking anything else. It's a struggle, the two of us working around each other and me dangling off the ground like an idiot, but I finally end up sprawled at his feet.

"This is going to be a disaster," Larz says flatly, like he didn't already know.

It will be a disaster. But I'll make sure everyone knows it's the costumes, and not us.

I struggle to my feet. "Don't worry. We'll show 'em all. Promise."

He nods, like he's trying to re-assure himself, but he doesn't look too convinced. I don't know how much we'll be able to do, even, but I'm not just going to sit here and sulk about it. He'll make sure we live. I'll make sure we fight.

I'm pretty sure that's all we need, at this point. At least that's what I'm hoping.

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

"Act cool."

"What do you mean, act cool? I am being extremely cool."

"I mean, don't just go charging over and act like you run things."

"Because I was totally planning on doing that," Lynn grumbles under her breath, none too quietly. Both of the Ones are lounging by their chariot - although the guy looks like he'd rather be anywhere but where he is. Neither of the Twos are out yet. Almost as soon as she sets eyes on us, the District One girl leaps out of her chariot like she was born doing it, and strides over to us.

As soon as she extends her hand towards me, a massive smile on her face, I know she's Problem Area A. I still take her hand graciously, feeling like I should be bowing to her.

"Cerise Telvarri," she announces. "And you are?"

"Elias," I inform her. "And this is Lynn."

As soon Cerise looks from me to Lynn, her expression changes. Her smile only hesitates a second before she gets it back into place. It looks strained. She still takes her hand, like she's expecting to get cooties from her. Untrained Career cooties. Oh the horror.

"How's he?" I ask her, nodding towards Duke. He's staring at all of us, but not making a move to come over here.

"Like you'd expect," Cerise whines. "No fun. A dead-beat. Boring as all fuck. And probably the reincarnation of his six feet under sister, so add useless to all of that."

The reincarnation of— you know, I'm not even going to question how that makes sense. More power to her if it does, somehow, in her brain.

"So is he a Career, or?" Lynn trails off. Cerise looks at her with a combo grimace-smile. It's not pretty.

"Good question. Are you?"

"Yes," she answers without hesitation. It makes me more than slightly proud of her. Lynn might be defensive and yet another problem area for the Careers, in the future, but she's ballsy. It's nice to see Cerise falter, if just for a second. If she thinks she's going to lead the Pack without someone biting back, then she's wrong.

"Might as well take you to meet him. Decide for yourself," Cerise sighs.

I somehow can't help but think, on the walk towards him, that this is going to end badly. And it turns out, I'm almost immediately proven right.

Duke takes my hand without fuss, like he's done it a million times. Not surprising - he's probably trying to rub it in Cerise's face that he's nicer than her. He smiles, warm and completely genuine. I must be staring like an absolute goddamn idiot, with what's easily the dopiest smile ever, because Lynn elbows me sharply in the ribs. I look over at her, trying to wipe the smile off my face. It doesn't work. She glares at me, a little bit incredulous. Duke's trying to hide his amused smile behind his hand. The attempt is almost as terrible as mine.

I notice Cerise doesn't look too pleased about the development.

"I really think we need to consider the dynamic," Cerise announces, directly into my ear. Moment ruiner.

"Meaning?" Duke asks. We all know what it means, to some extent. I think he just wants to annoy her before she inevitably makes him run for the hills. I could chase after him, probably will, but I don't know how much good it'll do.

An arm throws itself around my shoulders out of nowhere. A head pops between mine and Lynn's, and judging by her face, she also got an arm out of nowhere. Two girl.

"Don't tell me I'm missing the party," she complains. "Seren, by the way. And Meritt. Who barely talks, for what it's worth, so I'm talking for him."

The little bit I can turn with Seren holding me shows the Two guy - Meritt - standing three inches behind my goddamn back. If she hadn't warned me, I would've screamed. How is he even that close to me without me noticing?

Cerise puts the tacky smile back on her face. Well. There's gonna be even more problems than I thought. As soon as she opens her mouth, Seren opens hers.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, not interrupting your spiel. If that's what you were about to do. Go ahead, continue."

Cerise's mouth snaps shut. The look on her face is something like murder.

"Girl fight," Lynn whispers. Seren grins.

No one's saying anything. I'm almost, almost tempted to laugh, but I think someone might hit me if I do. Maybe this is a good thing, though. If the rest of them are this chaotic, maybe I can bump Cerise out of her position and take control. I know Lynn would listen to me over her. The rest of them too.

Maybe I _can_ make this work, as dysfunctional as it may be. I have the faith in myself to do it.

And then Cerise finally says something.

"I don't know who you think you are, coming in here and acting like you own the place but that attitude is not happening, especially not with me. So shut the fuck up, or leave," she spits. I don't even have to look at Seren's face to know she's smiling.

"Was planning on it anyway," she says, stepping back from us and giving Cerise a mock-salute. "You coming, Mer, or staying here with them?"

It's not a _are you coming back to the chariot with me_?. It's a very clear, _who are you sticking with?_ , and I don't even have to look at his face to know.

Seren gives me a what can you do, look. She only pauses, quickly, to raise her eyebrows very obviously at Duke and only Duke, and then walks away with Meritt by her side.

I have a feeling they're not coming back.

"Seriously?" I ask Cerise. "Must you?"

"Me?" She questions incredulously. "Did you see that bitch?"

"Yes, _you_ ," I reiterate. "They're not coming back, you'd have to be fucking blind not to see that. So now we're a four instead of a six, and—"

"Three," Lynn corrects.

"I— what?"

And then I notice Duke's gone.

He's not headed towards Seren and Meritt, but he's definitely walking away from us. Which leaves me with Lynn, whose never trained a day in her life in an actual institution, and Cerise, who is as welcoming as a fucking cactus. I thought I was _joking_ about having to go after Duke.

"And for future reference," Cerise warns, poking a finger into my chest. "You ever talk to me like that again, I'll make sure I'm the one that kills you, even if we are allies."

I'd love to see her try.

I'd love to see anyone, her included, take me down. Because now I'm not just determined. I'm pissed.

* * *

I'm leaving the poll up for another week, so keep going nuts on that if you haven't already. Shout-out to the person who voted for 22 of them.

I've been looking forward to writing some of these dynamics since the story started and oh man, they did not disappoint. Here's to finally getting to the Capitol, I hope everyone finds it as enjoyable as I do. I've had some of these plans for a long ass time so it feels great to finally write them and get them out to you guys. Give me some predictions, now, I eat 'em up. And I mean that. I will literally talk about them for hours if you want.

Until next time.


	11. Change The Game

Chariots, Part Two.

* * *

 **Arella Trinett, 18 years, District Seven Female**

* * *

It's not that I don't like Glenn. I do. But it's the fact that he's so alarmingly likable that worries me.

I have so many walls - spent so much time building them up that it's a wonder I even know how to break through them, when I need to. But Glenn, he's just too nice for his own good. Someone trying to get that close to me is nerve-wracking.

He asked if I wanted to ally. I said no, without thinking. It's true. I don't to ally with him. Not because I think he would drag me down, but because I don't need to get attached and protect him over myself. I won't do that. Not to Deviryn, not to Audrey. Not to Andie.

He's still talking to me. I've been trying to tune it out, for the most part. As evident by the fact that I can still hear him from where he's lounging in our chariot, I'm doing a piss poor job.

"Arella?" He inquires. "Just tell me to screw off if I'm bugging you, hey? I know you didn't want to be allies, but I feel like just ignoring you is wrong."

Just like I'm ignoring him, or at least trying to. How is that wrong? I don't want to all of a sudden to find someone whose worth it and then decide they're more valuable than me. Even though he's only two years younger he acts like he has ten times the innocence. If I don't deserve to die then he definitely doesn't.

"I'm going to look at the other tributes," I inform him. He falls silent. I turn to look at him, pushing off the side of the chariot. "You can come with, if you want? Look out for some allies too?"

He instantly brightens. It does make me feel bad, but I have to keep telling myself that my survival comes before his. My life comes before everyone's here. If I have allies, they need to understand that. I don't want them to be my friends, to try for something that's doomed to fail. That's why I'm worried about Glenn. I'm assuming that's exactly what he's going to do, and he's only going to suffer for it.

I think I've suffered enough.

Glenn hops down and starts walking down the line. Good call. I know the Careers look like a mess, but there's still no way I want to go near them. The Fives look well enough, but call me cruel for saying I don't need an ally with one less body part than the rest. For all I know, she's as capable as anyone here, but if I already feel bad looking at her then what am I going to feel in a week? The Three guy looks strong enough, but I think he's already allied with his partner. Why did everyone start making plans before me, and even more-so, why are so many people so confident with their partner by their side?

By the time I think to keep track of said partner, he's already trying to harass the little kid from Ten into talking to him. That's probably a lost cause. The girl, though, might be a good idea. She's sitting on the edge of her chariot, swinging her legs back and forth. She looks up when I walk over, smiling. I hop up on the edge of the chariot next to her. Screw proper introductions - they're not going to get me anywhere at this rate anyway.

"He always like this?" She asks, still smiling. "Larkin, by the way."

"Arella. And if you mean all the talking, yes."

"I think this is the first time Oxen looks sorta alright talking to someone. Usually he looks like he's going to pass out."

Larkin's right. Glenn is so non-threatening, so friendly, that literally anyone will talk to him. Meanwhile, every time Oxen so much as glances at me, he instantly swallows and looks at the ground. That, or back to Glenn. Maybe that's why I've built the walls that I have. Emotions complicate things.

"I feel bad," Larkin says quietly. I really wish I didn't, but I know what she means. Take one look at Oxen and you know he's done for. Glenn's probably in the same boat. I like to think that I have a much stronger chance than either of him, but I know I'd be stupid to count either of them. Oxen _volunteered_ , for fuck's sake. That doesn't mean he has any secret skills, but it means he's aware of what's going to happen to him. The fear of death does funny things to people.

"I wish I could do something," she continues. "I know I can't. I have to be stronger than that. Doesn't stop me from feeling bad about it."

Larkin's willing to do what has to be done. Maybe this could be more than I thought.

"What do you think about the Careers?" She says suddenly. I blink slowly, turning my head to look at her. She looks thoughtful. Nervous, but like she's got an idea.

The second I look at her, really look at her, I know what that idea is. And I want no part of it.

"I think," I tell her. "That you'll get yourself killed."

Larkin looks surprised, like she didn't expect me to be so blunt about it. I won't lie to her. It's a stupid plan. But if she's willing to go through with it, willing to die for something that's never going to work, then that's one less person in my way.

I thought we could be allies, until this came up. And just like that I slammed the gates back down, locked them so no one could get it. That easy.

I think I'm just getting used to it.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

I think they feel bad for me.

I'm not surprised, to say the least. All I've dealt with for the past few years is people feeling bad. It's just another thing I've gotten used to dealing with. They're trying to help, even though they're not, or trying to tip-toe around the subject, even though they're doing a terrible job. There's almost never an in-between.

I've found the in-between, and it's almost everyone in the Capitol.

They're not shying away from their annoyance. The first member of the team that walked in here was muttering under his breath about how they should've gotten Kian instead of me. Kian had stared at him until he had looked away. Admittedly, it was kind of satisfying, but it hasn't gotten much better since then. My stylist hasn't appeared yet, but I'm not sure I want them to. This isn't helping my confidence any. I thought I'd finally gotten enough, on the way here, to sustain myself, only for them to tear it back down.

Like Kian said, it's not _my_ fault they didn't tailor the costume sooner. They had plenty of time to do it.

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

The costume could be worse. It's mostly just a black and silver jumpsuit underneath, but 20 minutes ago they started weaving together strand of these twinkly little lights around me and haven't stopped. If they put them any closer to my eyes I think I'm going to have to add blind to the list of things that inevitably make my life harder. I've settled for closing my eyes. It's easier.

The door opens for what feels like the fourth time. Probably someone else checking in on how they're doing. Only this time, every hand on me disappears almost instantly and the incessant, under the breath muttering follows.

I crack open an eye. It's still ridiculously bright in here.

"Hello," I say casually, to the older man standing in front of me. No matter how old he is, probably 60's if not farther than that, his hair is still a lot nicer than mine and he doesn't have a wrinkle in sight. I'm pretty sure I have more than him.

He holds out a hand to me, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, no doubt because of my expression. "Marcel. Nice to meet you."

I take his hand, noting the way he uses his free one to show the three assistants out of the room. They scatter with no complaint, shutting the door behind them way too quick to be anything but eager. I lean my head back against the chair, letting out a breath.

"Thank you," I sigh. Marcel chuckles.

"That bad, eh? Figured. Usually I just come up with the plans and let them do the work. Getting old, you know? But I guessed things we're going worse than usual. Thought you might need saving."

I know I could handle them. I _was_ handling them. Mostly by ignoring them, which I consider myself a professional at, but it's still nice someone put some forethought into this. Marcel picks up a brush from the table and some palette or other.

"And besides," he continues. "Caelen is still the worst make-up artist here. It's a miracle she can leave the house in the morning."

I can't help the snort that escapes me. He taps me lightly on the nose with the end of the brush, a very clear sit still, and continues working.

"You're not all bad," I say, rather obviously.

"Of course not. There's not just good and evil, here. Those three just happen to be conjoined at the hips with matching attitudes. They're the only ones who will stick with me, though. Not many of the crowd here likes old people," he points out. Which, to be fair, is probably true. I don't think I've seen another person close to his age since we've gotten here. So we're in the same boat, kind of. Criticized for things we can't control, for things we didn't have a choice in.

"Well," he comments, stepping back. "At least you look better than District Three."

He must notice my glare, because he quickly back-tracks. "Kidding. Seriously, look."

I push myself out of the chair, stepping in front of the mirror. Really, it could be worse. At least the knee-high boots kind of make me look like a badass. Marcel grabs yet another coil of lights off the desk and for a second I groan internally, until he places it on my head. It's almost like a crown, intertwined with hundreds of little lights. They aren't nearly as blinding as the rest of the outfit.

"You want me to get you there?"

"Nah. Think I got it. Thank you though."

And I mean it. I really do. I've only known him for a few minutes, but he's done wonders. So much for me thinking my stylist wouldn't help the situation. Maybe that means everything will start looking up.

By the time I make it to the chariot, everything's moments away from starting. Kian's too busy over-killing it with his smile to even notice me approach, for a moment, but he quickly reaches down and takes my hand, helping me up next to him.

"Please tell me that smile is for a reason?" I force out, looking around at our surroundings. Almost everyone is staring at us. It's kind of hard not to.

"Might as well find something to smile about. It's not like they're looking at us for bad reasons."

That might be up for debate, but I'll take his word for it.

The massive, ornate doors start creaking open. The roar of the crowd is deafening. Apparently the ultimate goal of today is for me to lose all of my senses at once. Kian's right, though. Right now, smiling's everything. Showing everyone that we're not scared, that we're confident no matter what, that's what matters right now. Not what I feel about the situation.

I know how to fake a smile. I've been doing it for years.

* * *

 **Cerise Telvarri, 18 years, District One Female**

* * *

This is shitty.

And by this I mean literally everything, just to be clear.

I don't know where Duke went, nor do I really care. I dared him to give Kiero Mearlove the finger a minute ago, just to get him away from me, but I actually think he went and did it. Guess we'll find out soon.

Which leaves me, lounging against the side of my chariot, glaring at everyone who even comes within 10 feet of me. Lynn waved at me, seconds before Elias all but threw her over his shoulder and dragged her away. They're my allies. But clearly even Elias has his doubts.

Fuck them all, honestly. Who do they think they are?

I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I had a plan, if everyone else had just cooperated. I thought I had a pack to lead. The Twos are gone, and they can stay that way, as far away from me as possible, for the rest of their inevitably short lives. Unless Seren _wants_ to die, then that's the course of action she should probably follow. Duke's about as useful as a mop.

Speaking of. Valiant comes walking towards me, dragging Duke along by the arm.

"Did you do it?" I demand, a little excited. Duke glowers at me.

"No," Valiant answers instead. "And don't encourage him to."

I pout, crossing my arms over my chest. Really, what's he got up his ass that makes him so boring?

Duke continues glaring at me while he gets dragged away, like it's _my_ fault he got caught. As if. I just wanted some entertainment. It's not my fault he's not subtle.

I continue looking around at the crowd of people. It's so thick, in the middle, that I'm surprised anyone's even alive in there. That's why I'm here, on the outside, where I can be assured that no one's going to think of stepping anywhere near me or screaming in my ear. Besides, it makes for good people watching. Maybe I should go play nice with the guy from Nine. He's nice to look at.

"You having fun over here?" A voice asks out of nowhere, almost directly into my ear. Of course. I whip around. Six girl. She's grinning.

"No, for your information," I inform her. "And I have a bubble, _thank you very much_."

She steps back, hands held up in front of her, but I notice the grin hasn't left her face.

"Alana," she says simply, forgoing any other introduction. "And I noticed you're in a bit of a predicament."

"Cerise," I reply. "And you noticing I'm in a predicament is fascinating. I'm sure everyone else here has too."

It makes me so angry. Everyone here can see how screwed we are without really looking. They already know we're going down in flames. Everything I thought I could do, everything I thought I could beat, and here we are. I'm alone in a place I thought I'd control over and everyone's laughing at me for it.

"Unless you have something interesting to say, can you please leave?"

Alana leans against the chariot, resting her chin in her hand. She looks thoughtful, but she isn't leaving.

"Do you trust the Fours?"

I blink, my eyebrows furrowing. Absolutely not. How is that not obvious by now? To be fair, I really don't trust anyone, but they're too buddy-buddy for my liking, even if I do have to stick with them. It doesn't help that I'm also certain Elias has an insta-crush on Duke, which is gross enough on it's own.

"No," I state flatly. Alana looks satisfied.

"Do you trust me?"

I laugh, but don't say anything. I look at her, standing by my side, and raise an eyebrow.

"Is there a point you're trying to get at?"

"Well, I mean. They're already friends. They'll go after you before each other. Want a friend?"

She's _serious,_ and no matter how much I stare at her, she's not faltering for a second. In fact, I dare to say Alana looks almost confident. More confident than either of my allies have been, when thinking about working with me. Alana approached _me_. Alana was willing to throw herself on the line to ask me to ally. Which means she's already better than they'll ever been.

"And why?" I dare to ask. "Should I think you can help me?"

"Because I know for a fact I've killed more people than you have."

I can't help my mouth opening a bit, probably the least attractive I've looked tonight, but I quickly snap it shut. She's definitely not kidding with that one. It's true - I haven't killed anyone, of course, but not yet. If she already has ... and she's still not hesitating, then that means something. That's more important than even she knows. There won't be anything in me that falters, when it comes to killing someone. I know that. Everyone back in One knew it too. But Six is different. Hell, Six is worlds away.

I need someone who won't hesitate.

"Ready to be a Career?

Alana smiles huge and eager. She holds out her arm to me, like an invitation. What can I say? She's the first person here I've actually liked, the first person that's worth a damn second of my time. I loop my arm through hers, turning her towards wherever the Fours disappeared off to. Together we take off across the room, through the battlefield, parting people left and right like it's nothing. And it is nothing, all of these people, all of these dramatics. Soon, they won't matter.

They'll find that out soon.

"They're not going to be happy," Alana laughs. I shake my head.

"No. But who cares. Fuck 'em."

There's a part of me now that doesn't care what happens. It's funny, how quickly things can change. A few minutes ago I was on the bottom, surrounded by people with allies and chances and hope. Now, they won't even look at me. Oh, how the tables have turned.

I can't wait to show everyone just how _much_ things have changed.

* * *

I didn't mean for things to go to shit this quickly. In other news, the **poll results** are up. I wanted two goddamn weeks for someone to untie Duke and Meritt for good and it never happened, so I give up. So go check those out, and be aware of the fact that if I ever even considered writing a third SYOT, there are no more Galore siblings to be at the top of the poll. Stop it.

And I apologize, not-so sincerely, for the amount of alliances that have already formed before training, if you're not into that. We're nowhere near done, though, I can promise you that. So many things are going on that I needed to get a lot of them done early and set the stage for the real shitstorm down the road. As always, dedicated reviewers, I love and appreciate you and hope you don't hate me too much down the road.

Until next time.


	12. Crazy Train

Training, Part One.

* * *

 **Lynn Marinna, 17 years, District Four Female**

* * *

This has got to be one of the most awkward scenarios I've ever been in.

Everyone in the little lobby is looking around like they're terrified, save for most of the Careers and a few random others. I expected that, to be honest, but I didn't expect the air of general uneasiness. Maybe I should feel a little more uneasy myself, but at least I sorta know what I'm doing. I've thrown enough spears in my life - maybe not at people or dummies - but that has to be good enough.

Cerise and Alana are talking behind me and Elias loud enough for the whole room to hear them. I still don't know why we're even letting Alana in, not when all they do is bitch together, but it's too late to get rid of her now.

"I have an important announcement to make," the Head Trainer calls. I haven't been paying attention, but Elias elbows me hard enough to bruise to make sure I'm paying attention.

Even Cerise and Alana shut up. It's a miracle.

"Upon arrival into the arena, all tributes will be frozen to their plates. Besides your feet, everyone will have a full range of body motion."

Well that's ... unsettling.

"Are you going to tell us why?" Alana yells. Everyone turns to look at her.

"To prevent early casualties."

"More like to prevent cowards from offing themselves," Cerise mutters. I really, really wish I could turn around and say something to her, but I'm not Alana. I don't need everyone looking at me.

Two different trainers open the doors. No one makes a move, for a second, until Cerise literally shoves her way between me and Elias, Alana at her heels, and goes for it.

Fantastic.

"We're fucked," I inform him helpfully. He just shakes his head.

"We need someone else."

"Because Alana was such a good idea, right?"

"We didn't pick Alana, Cerise did. We need to pick someone we like, someone we trust, and then it's three versus two. So start socializing," he orders, and shoves me directly into the path of the two from Eleven. The girl scowls at me, while the boy carefully side-steps, not even sparing me a glance.

"Great idea," I growl under my breath. "And what are you going to do?"

"Talk to Duke."

"Priorities!" I shout after him. He probably has a better chance at getting Duke to come with us than anyone else, though. So what if his goals might be slighter larger than that. It's not _my_ fault Elias would make out with anything male that moves.

There's no way I'm going to be able to talk to anyone now. Too many of them are milling around in confusion, or staring around in awe at all of the stations. I'm almost in the same boat they are. I've been in the Training Center, almost every kid my age has, but I've never directly participated in it.

For all I thought I knew, this is another world entirely, and all of my allies, if I can even call them all that, have left me to my own devices.

Cerise and Alana have taken over the sword station. No one's standing within 20 feet of them. I have no idea where Elias ran off to, but if he found Duke, I can guarantee it's either going terribly or something inappropriate's happening. Either way, I have zero desire to know.

So, what am I supposed to do? Sit here and stare at a wall? I'm the only quasi-Career who just seems to be standing around with no goal in mind, and I'm pretty sure everyone's noticed. Just like Cerise and Alana, I've created this little bubble around myself that no one seems eager to break through.

I settle for the spear station, because if we're going to go the typical route, we might as well just drive it into overkill territory. Besides, it's the only thing I know how to use, so what if I've only ever thrown them at fish and not anyone else?

The only one even close is the Nine girl, who's doing a spectacular job of staring down her nose at me. She's already got a spear in her hand, weighing it carefully against her grip, but it's clear she doesn't have the faintest idea how to use it. Good for her, though, for getting straight down to business.

I pick up my own spear. Different than a lot of the ones we use for fishing back in Four, but still fundamentally the same. That's all I need it to be.

I heft it over my shoulder and face the target. Prove yourself. Prove you're good enough for anyone else in here.

I left the spear fly with as much force as I can put behind it. I almost don't want to look, but it's not like I have a choice.

Not a bulls-eye. Second ring from the center. But not terrible by any means. A few more shots and I should have it down. It's not my skill level that's the issue - it's the unfamiliarity, the thought that in a few days that target will be a person and I won't be able to hesitate. I thought I'd be safe, but apparently even us in Four don't have that luxury anymore.

"You look like you know what you're doing," the Nine girl comments, completely unafraid. That was the goal, ultimately. To make people take a step back and re-evaluate me. To think, huh, maybe this girl is more than I chocked her up to be.

"You could say that," I retort, trying not to sound too smug about it. Obviously, she wasn't expecting it either. She puts the spear back on the rack and leaves, trying very obviously not to stomp away in some form of agitation.

I'm not here for her, though. Not even Elias gets that title.

I went into this alone. I have to come out of it the same way.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

"So, what'd the Twos do to get kicked out so fast?" I speculate, leaning back over the rack of swords to look at Cerise. She scoffs, chopping the arm off another dummy. Nice.

"Seren's a bitch, and the guy's weird."

Helpful.

I don't think it'd be wise of me to say that it's probably Cerise's fault they're gone, especially not to her face. No need to cause drama when there isn't any due cause for it. I'm saving that for later, when the Fours finally get on my nerves. Really, this is what I wanted. I found a way into what should probably be the strongest alliance that ends up forming, unless something else drastically changes that.

Speaking of the Twos, Meritt is off at a table not far from us, tinkering with whatever's on the surface. Cerise said he's weird. I don't mind weird.

"I'm gonna go talk to him."

Cerise looks up from trying to pick up the most badass sword she can find. She rolls her eyes.

"Have fun."

I think I will.

He doesn't look like the type that I can harass. Well, I can harass anyone, Kal for instance, but that doesn't mean it's going to provoke a reaction. Usually the Careers do an alright job at remaining unruffled.

I plop myself down at the bench next to him and look around. Seren's nowhere in sight, so at least she won't be over here to rescue him any time soon. And Kal is off building traps, I think, which seems to be something he's actually good at. Shocking, I know, but at least he's too absorbed to keep me from harassing anyone.

To Meritt's credit, he doesn't even move when I sit down next to him. Not a flinch. Nada. Zip. Interesting. It even takes him a few seconds to contemplate looking at me and when he does it's only for a split second before he looks back down at whatever book he's got in front of him.

"You gotta say something," I inform him. "Or else I'm gonna start thinking Cerise was right. It's like talking to a piece of cardboard."

He looks at me again. I smile cheekily.

"What was I supposed to say?" He wonders. "Hello, thanks for sitting half a centimeter away from me?"

"Oh, so he can be sassy," I joke. "Cerise doesn't know what she's talking about."

"That's probably an accurate assumption, considering she's never directly spoken to me."

He's much more interesting than I thought. When I don't respond, he ducks his head back down, flipping a little page in the book. I don't know what it's about, nor do I really care to find out. It can't be that useful, or they wouldn't have put it in a book instead of right in front of us.

"So why are you here?" I ask him. "Fame? Fortune? You're a bloodthirsty animal that just came out of hibernation?"

"Definitely the last one," Meritt says quietly.

"Oh, same."

He looks up at me for the third time in as many minutes, only this time he looks slightly peeved.

"What? I laugh. "If you're allowed to joke, so am I. And besides, I was kidding. Mostly."

I wouldn't mind tearing some people apart, to be completely honest, if only to get some satisfaction. God knows I haven't had any lately, not with the whole District watching me to make sure I don't screw up. I haven't been able to do anything for so long that all of that rage and energy has been pent up into something a lot of people probably don't even have the capabilities to imagine.

I volunteered to get away from all of those looks, to prove to them all that now I can do whatever the hell I want and this time, there won't be any consequences.

Meritt hasn't responded. He's just sitting stone-faced next to me, head in hand, staring at the opposite wall. Like he's somewhere else. Like the reasons I listed really weren't for him and he wants to go back to the time he volunteered and reverse it.

"Okay, what's really with you?" I ask seriously. "Something's up, and I'm going to find out."

"I severely doubt that," he mutters, still staring at the wall. Call me crazy, but he looks a little worried. Different than before. Like me finding out _whatever_ is definitely not something he wants.

"Oh c'mon, you're telling me no one knows the real you. No one at all?"

There's people that know me, somewhere in this world, even if I'd rather they didn't. I don't consider myself close to anyone where I came from, but they still know what makes me tick. Still knew how to take me down.

"Only one. And I don't plan on adding you to the list," he replied simply. He swings his legs over the bench and get to his feet. I stare at him.

"I'll figure you out. Just give me some time."

Meritt looks down at me, obviously not convinced, and walks away. I notice Seren shooting arrows into things with a crossbow along the opposite wall. Headed back to her and away from me. It's not like I planned on changing his allegiance, but seeing him go from blank-faced to even remotely worried is something.

He's different than everyone here, just like I am. I like to think I'm one of the bigger standouts, someone intimidating enough to get through things without having to try too hard.

Cerise plops herself down on the bench next to me unannounced, right where Meritt had been sitting.

"Told you he was weird," she brags, leaning her elbows back on the table.

"I don't know," I muse. "I kinda like him."

Cerise scoffs, but I'm definitely serious. Normal doesn't get you by in this world, not by any means. Maybe it's a good thing I am the way I am, the way Meritt is. Being different gets you by - maybe not in conventional or appropriate ways, but they're almost always more fun. So what if murder and felonies aren't on most people's lists of 'fun'? Sitting around and training for half your life doesn't sound any better.

Fun, interesting wake-up calls are my specialty, and everyone in here's got one coming to them.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I've been dragging Oxen around with me most of the day.

If anything, it's because any of the times I've seen him alone he's looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, and I will not stand for anyone looking like that while I'm around.

Besides, he's super quiet and not willing to put himself out there, but he's really not bad. Nice, when you get him talking, and it's just that. He's easy to talk to. He's also made it very clear that he's not allying with me. I would take him, in a heartbeat, but I think he's already accepted that he's a goner and doesn't want to take anyone with him.

The fact that he, along with several other people here, have already been reduced to that is upsetting. I can't let myself think like that, no matter how large the competition is. And believe me when I say the competition's pretty terrifying.

One Career pack is terrifying enough, but the fact that they've broken up is even worse. The three other outer-District volunteers besides Oxen have all taken to different people. Which means I could get screwed from literally every single direction if I don't think of something, and fast.

The idea doesn't sound too pleasing, honestly.

"Who do you think we should talk to?" I ask Oxen, who's lingering a few feet behind me. He shrugs.

"They'll be _your_ allies," he supplies. "Doesn't really matter to me."

"You've got good judgement, though."

Oxen looks around. He peers over my shoulder, stretching to even make it that far.

"Uh, them?"

I look over my shoulder. It's the pair of Twelve, who don't look like they're doing anything of much use among all the knives. They look like they're having fun, though, and it makes me want that too. I know I can't go into this alone, I won't be any good at it. I want friends.

I dutifully check that Oxen's still trailing behind me and walk over to them.

The girl doesn't look up from what she's doing, which looks to be trying to find the weirdest looking knife she possibly can. The one she's already got in her free hand looks dangerous enough. The boy is just poking at them, so he's not too occupied when I approach. He looks up at me blankly, and then elbows the girl. She looks up sharply, the knife raised a little too high for comfort, and then realizes I'm standing on the other side of the rack watching them.

"Oh. Hi," she manages.

"Please don't almost stab me next time," the boy pleads, although it sounds too flat to be something he's really concerned about. She puts a knife in his free hand and then extends it towards me.

"Viscaria, but Vis is fine. And this is Siung. You're Glenn, right?"

"Yeah. And this is Oxen. We're not allies, though."

Vis stares at him for a moment. "Not allies? There a reason why?"

"I don't want to. And he just feels bad," Oxen interrupts, although it's still super quiet.

"I do not!" I insist. Vis laughs, and Siung actually smiles.

"So, what are you guys doing over here?" I ask conversationally.

"Figuring out which one of these is going to kill us, probably," Siung answers instantly. Viscaria sighs.

"That's ... only a little morbid."

"Morbid's this guy's middle name. Ignore it," Viscaria informs me. "He's weird."

"And what's yours? Insulting?" Siung mutters darkly. This time it's Viscaria's turn to elbow him.

I can't help but laugh. These two are certainly something, but I just keep thinking that this is almost exactly what I was looking for. Fun, without being delusional about things. We can't all win, we can't be together forever, but we can face things together while we're still here.

I turn to look at Oxen. He gives me a little thumbs up, and then turns back around, looking at the series of smaller knives laid out on the table next to him. Okay, maybe I do feel slightly bad. I tried, though, and that's what has to count. If he doesn't want me, then so be it. At least I'll know I didn't stand here and do anything.

Speaking of standing here usefully, I check back on the pair from Twelve. They're still arguing about which one of the knives they're holding is the worst. I check the ones on my side and yank out a long, slender dagger that's closer to a machete than anything else. It curves inwards at three different spots. It would hook right into someone, if you did it the right way. I'm starting to think like Siung already.

"Oh, that one wins," Vis announces. "Hand it over."

I do, much carefully than she would have. She smiles in satisfaction once it's in her hand, and then smiles at me.

"Yes to the allies question, before you ask. As long as this kid's okay with it?"

I pause, staring at the two of them. That's a little creepy. Siung stares at me, and then shrugs.

"Sounds good."

Viscaria whoops, leaning over the rack and wrapping an arm around my shoulders in a half-hug. I get it now. That machete in her other hand is _way_ too close for my liking. I still hug her back, feeling lighter than air. This is exactly what I wanted - something I could count on once we're in that arena.

They're both small. _Very_ small. Siung's probably just scraping five feet and Viscaria's an inch taller, maybe two. They're both skinny as all hell. I've worked for as long as I can remember up in the trees of Seven, working for my little family. I know I have the advantage here, but that thought is barely making an impact in my mind. I won't need an advantage over them.

I just need them as friends. And even in this short amount of time, I think we're already there.

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

He's with the Eleven kid. Again.

I'm going to eat him for breakfast. Which one of them, I haven't decided yet.

I don't know what the hell's going on; all I know is that I definitely don't like it. Does Rover not follow Kiero around enough that he has to follow someone else around when we're not with him?

I'm two seconds from snapping and we've been here a day and a half. I shouldn't have even bothered with today.

The only thing I can think to do is hurt someone, which isn't an option, so I have to settle for punching dummies in the face. Every time I hit one it sways to the side and pops back up right in front of me. Only makes it easier to punch. How convenient.

I'm in the middle of attempting to punch one's head clean off when someone taps me on the shoulder. I glance over my shoulder through the sweaty hair falling into my eyes. Rover. With the Eleven kid. Kill me.

"What are you doing?" I force out, punching the dummy again. Without looking I know Rover just tensed up, getting nervous without me even having to look at him.

"Uh, w-well, this is Magne."

I turn fully this time, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"Hi Magne. What are you doing?" I repeat.

Rover _clearly_ doesn't know how to answer that one, judging by the silence.

"Well, me and Rove have been talking—"

Rove. They're on a nickname basis. That's great.

"—and we were thinking we should ally. However, he said he's allies with you. So what do you think?" Magne says for him, plastering a manic, cheery look on his fave. I hate this kid.

"What do I think about what?"

"The three of us being allies."

My first reaction, the overwhelmingly loud one in my head is absolutely not, no way in fucking hell, please stay approximately 100 feet away from me. But then I look at Rover, who must have the most terrified yet begging eyes in the world. I know that if I say no, he'll listen to me, and Magne will go away. But if I say no and chase Magne away, then there's going to be the tiniest sliver of resentment that Rover holds onto, no matter how loyal he is. I'll be just as evil as everyone he's ever encountered in his life.

I need him. I don't want to admit it, but I need him. And I need him loyal.

"I think that's a great idea," I agree, in what is hopefully a convincing matter. Rover smiles lights up his face like he just won the lottery, and for a second it looks like he's going to hug me. He must think better of it, but he's still bouncing on the balls of his feet. Damn, he really does take the glass is always half full thing to another planet. We're still definitely not the strongest alliances, probably one of the most dysfunctional, and he just doesn't care. That, or he's telling himself it'll all be alright. Probably.

I, on the other hand, think the two of them are dead meat, and I wouldn't be surprised if I really did eat Magne for breakfast one day.

When I finally chance a look at Magne, he looks over the moon. He claps his hands together.

"Alright, now I think we should—"

I tune out. _We_ should do _what_? When did I board the Magne train?

They must come up with something to do, because I have no choice but to follow them off to something other than punching, which is never good in my book. Magne points out a direction and Rover instantly just _does_. Eventually, Magne hangs back, waiting until I catch up and I'm walking by his side.

"You don't like me," he points out. "I hope you will."

"Fascinating observation. Don't get your hopes up," I shoot back. Magne just shakes his head, looking no short of amused.

"I'm not your enemy, Erna. I'll prove it to you. Rover trusts me. Why don't you?"

"Everyone here is supposed to be my enemy. And everyone is."

"Yet you still allied with him before I did. Way before I did, in fact. So why is that?"

Because Rover's a doormat, because he's willing to do anything for people that even look in his direction for longer than five minutes, because he doesn't know what he's doing yet he does, all at the same time. I know, when it comes down to it, that I won't hesitate to sacrifice him for my own life. That's what my whole life has been.

Except now I have to fight for him, because Magne's trying to steal him. Excuse me if I'm a little annoyed.

"Just because we're allies, don't think I'm risking my ass for you," I snap. "Not you, not anyone."

Magne smiles, like he knows something I don't. "Then why did you ally with me just to keep him with you?"

I wrap my hand around his forearm and stop the both of us from walking any farther. For the first time, he looks a little nervous. Maybe because my nails are starting to leave marks on his arm.

"Listen, Beauty Queen. I will not hesitate to throw you under the bus. Got that?" I promise, like a threat. There's a trainer looking at us from the nearest station. More specifically at my hand locked around his arm. I loosen my grip, and then finally drop his arm.

"G-Guys?" Rover stutters out. Whoops. Guess we stopped closer to him than I thought, and now he's looking at us like he's standing two feet from the mouth of a volcano and he can do fuckall about it. I force the glare out of my eyes, stop gritting my teeth together. He's not worth it. He's not.

"Sorry," I mutter. "Let's go."

Rover hesitates, for a minute, and then keeps walking. Magne speeds up to walk alongside him.

I officially thinking dying would be easier than keeping up with this bullshit.

* * *

Training's my favorite, to be completely honest, as evident by the fact that I wrote this entire chapter in one day and I'm still too lazy to re-read it for mistakes. Anyway, I know the alliance action is happening pretty fast, but as I've been doing since it started, the blog's being updated with it all, just in case you get lost. Feel free to ask any questions if that still doesn't clarify.

Because it's already come up in my inbox for whatever reason, I'll address the review situation. I know reviews have dropped (they almost always do, it's not a surprise) but I do appreciate a review every once in a while even if you're the most inconsistent person in the world with them. I don't expect paragraphs - if you do write lengthy ones, you're an angel, but I don't need a lot. I just need feedback and to know that people are still here.

Until next time.


	13. High Expectations

Training, Part Two.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

Leaving was the right decision.

When Laz told me, to you y'know, _fuck it up_ , I hadn't planned on doing it quite that quickly, yet here we are. I half expected Meritt to stay with them and not me. It's not like we were particularly close at that point, or even thought of being close as allies. But he hadn't hesitated in coming with me when I asked, and that meant a lot.

To be honest, I think there's a part of Meritt that didn't want allies at all. He seems like the loner type. But he's still sitting on the table behind me, people-watching, while I cut dummies up with whatever sword I happen to pick up.

Meritt nods his head a little, towards something behind me.

"How's it feel, knowing I stole your spot in the pack, Two?"

Well, Meritt had said that the Six girl wasn't that bad, when he talked to her yesterday, but I'm gonna have to agree to disagree. I don't even bother looking at her.

"How's it feel, knowing you only got taken because I wasn't there?"

I can feel her simmering without even looking at her. Meritt is looking between us with nothing pointing to the fact that he's going to intervene. And then Alana's hand grabs my shoulder and she spins me to face her, so unexpected and fast I almost stab her clean in the side. The look on her face is a weird mixture of happy and furious. I don't like it.

"I left of my own accord," I start, before she can even speak. "And you joined of yours. Good luck with that, by the way."

"Well, we'll see who dies first. And considered you're extremely outnumbered, I'd put bets on you."

What Alana doesn't realize is that almost nothing comes down to numbers. It it did, the Career Pack would be successful every year, and they'd be the final six. But explosions happen all the time, more often than not, and I'd be willing to bet Alana will either be the catalyst or caught in the crossfire.

Maybe it's because I don't instantly snap back a response, but Alana's growing unsettled. She expected me to fight back, to prove her wrong. Instead of that, she thinks I'm not afraid. And I'm not. There's not a part of me that's afraid of her.

"You're dead in the bloodbath. Maybe I'll leave him," she spares a glance in Meritt's direction, "But you're a goner. Cerise and I will make sure of that."

"Cerise also thinks she has control of things she's already lost. And judging by the fact that you're only here because you're running from your past - well it wouldn't surprise me if you run then too."

There's the reaction I was waiting for, the anger that she had been doing such a good job of concealing. In one swift moment she knocks the sword out of my hand, sending it flying to our feet. She tangles a hand in my shirt, dragging me the slightest bit closer to her, her free-hand clenched at her side. I'm certain she's two seconds away from punching me until someone shoves their way between us.

"I thought we were being civil!" He yells at her, and yep, that has to be her District partner. I don't really get a chance to look, though, because Alana punches him directly in the face instead of me.

Instantly, he goes down in a heap at my feet. It looks like he's out cold until he rolls over a little bit, half-crushing my toes and half-lying across the sword I dropped a minute ago. His nose is gushing blood.

"Seriously?" He mutters, just as one of the Trainers appears to grab Alana. She goes easier than I expected, but definitely doesn't look like she regrets punching him instead of me.

"Hi," he continues, staring up at me in amusement. I crouch down next to him, resting my elbows on my knees.

"You probably should've stayed in bed today," I inform him. He huffs out a laugh, grimacing at the blood headed towards his mouth.

"Probably," he agrees. Meritt, who had hopped off the table sometime during the ordeal, finally offers a hand down to him. "Kal, by the way. And I know you both of you are. I like to call that knowledge "the people on Alana's shitlist" but there seems to be a lot of them. I'm also on it, in case it wasn't obvious."

His nose looks even worse when he finally stands up, but we waves off another Trainer who tries to offer assistance, settling for wiping at it with his sleeve. Looks like he's gotten punched before and is just accepting it.

I can't help but look around the room at everyone else. I said numbers don't matter. And in the grand scheme of things, they don't. But they sure do help, especially if one of those numbers also doesn't care what they throw themselves into, if they still get up at the end of the day. _That's_ what matters. People who are willing to survive no matter what they do.

I look at Meritt. He stares back. He obviously knows what I'm thinking, but he's letting me make the decision. Meritt's more observant than anyone here. If he thought it was a bad idea, he'd tell me. He's looking at Kal a little warily, but there's nothing to suggest that'll need to continue. Both of them are smart. Meritt just _is_ and Kal may not know weapons like we do but he knows how to stop things from happening. The trap section is a mess because of him. I have a feeling we're gonna need them with the amount of people looking to chase us down.

"I know this is sudden," I offer. "But you're definitely not on her side. So what about ours?"

Kal stares at me for a while, scratching at the blood on his face. "Seriously?"

I shrug. Kal shakes his head, looking almost like he's going to laugh. Finally, he sighs.

"I'm fucked anyway. Let's do this."

Well, that's a reason if I've ever heard one. To be honest, I can't even think of a better one. All we have left is the drive that we can do better than them, that we can beat them when it comes down to it. I have a feeling that fight is going to come sooner than later.

No time like the present.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

It would be easier to figure my way out into the Careers if I even knew who was one.

I mean, the groups are clear. Sort of. Both of the Sixes, for some reason, have been adopted by either side. The Twos have the smaller group, but they also look more functional. The other side looks to have the advantage. Or at least they should. I'm not counting any possibility out though, not yet.

And then there's the One guy, who doesn't appear to be doing much of anything other than sitting around or occasionally getting harassed by Elias. And by occasionally, I mean all the time.

All I've been doing so far is practicing with the throwing knives. I know I'm a hell of a lot more prepared than most of the kids in my District, but I still know that in a regular year most of the Careers wouldn't look at me twice. But this isn't a regular year, which is why I'm almost certain Cerise has been keeping an eye on me since day one. I know all of them. I made it my goal to. But they probably don't know me. I'd be lucky if they even knew what District I was from.

I throw another knife. It embeds itself in the circle just outside of the bulls-eye.

Just over my shoulder I can see Cerise starting towards me.

I don't think I'm gonna have enough time to figure out exactly how I feel about that, because from what I've seen so far, she doesn't appear to be the friendliest person around.

She's halfway over here when the Four girl, Lynn, leaps directly into my field of vision.

"Hey!" She bursts out, smiling widely. I blink at her for a moment, noting the way Cerise has stopped dead over her shoulder.

"Hi?"I try. She offers her hand to me, still beaming.

"Larkin, right?" she questions. "Lynn."

"Yeah, I know. Kinda hard to forget a reaped Career."

Lynn chuckles under her breath, somewhat awkwardly. She almost looks embarrassed. "Fair enough. But you got reaped too, and you look capable enough. Part of the Ten movement?"

I didn't know what was happening in Ten was even considered a movement. Maybe Kellen wants it to be that, maybe he wants more kids trained to protect them, but we're still a long way from that. If I won though, I could help. Prove that training does help, in the long run, even if we do keep losing kids to the Games. Not everyone has to die.

"I guess I am," I supply. "How's your group going?"

By the look in Lynn's eyes, she knew exactly what she did. Intercepted Cerise before she got here. Her closeness with the Six girl isn't looking good. In fact, I'd almost say it looks unsettling, if the cut-throat look in both of their eyes is anything to go by. There's no way Lynn came over here for nothing - if she leaves without anything happening, Cerise will try again. Which means it's up to Lynn to make the first move.

Or me. I might have to.

"Alright," Lynn replies, looking a little sheepish. She knows what it has to look like from an outsider's perspective. I'll admit, when I first saw the Careers split during the chariots, I almost reconsidered. I told Arella as much, and then Kellen later. That scared me. But being on my own, being surrounded by alliances, that scares me even more. I don't know if there will be anywhere else for me to fit.

"We're always looking for new recruits though."

There it is.

"Then why'd you stop Cerise from coming over here?"

Lynn's eyes widen a little. Almost not noticeable, if I wasn't looking close enough.

"Because," a voice announces out of nowhere. Elias. "Cerise can be a little ... blunt. She'd push you away before she drew you in. If the tacky smile didn't do the job first. She's really good at it, though."

He puts a hand on my back, but it's nothing forceful. I, for one, don't even know where he came from. Last I saw he was talking to Duke, who had looked more amused than anything else. I'd be amused, too, if someone was putting that much effort into persuading me about allying. But maybe these two are.

"Why now?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Elias steps away from my side and to Lynn's. They both look like they're appraising me, but I can't falter now. Besides, Lynn is just as similar as I am, and her and Elias seem to be close enough. Friends, even. I envy that. I haven't felt anything like that since I've been here.

"You're smart," Elias praises. "And you can see how close Cerise and Alana are without even being near them. People won't even get close to them. We don't have a choice. We're already allies. But if we have the advantage on them, then it won't matter."

"And you think us three will have the advantage over them?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Elias shrugs. "But it'll give us a shot."

It's like he already knows me. I'd rather team up with them than the girls, who look like they'd throw me under the bus the second they got the opportunity. Maybe, with them, I could have friends that would also have my back.

"So," I start. "When are you introducing me to them?"

Elias smirks and sweeps a hand around towards the girls on the far side of the room. Cerise is still staring. Lynn falls into step beside me easily, like we're already friends.

This could turn out to be one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made, but it could also pay-off like no other, if I play my cards right.

When we finally approach the girls, neither of them make a move to speak. It would be worrying, if I didn't have other people by my side supporting me, telling me this is right. I hold out my hand.

"Larkin Emerson," I inform them. "Your newest ally."

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

Mireya's getting difficult.

I can't say I'm surprised. To be honest, I expected it eventually. We're such vastly different people that I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted her as an ally - she's going to fight for every step of the way she has to. And that's what's important. But if she drives me insane first, then there won't be any point to this.

She doesn't think we need any other allies. She's insisting on it. I know we do.

There's a difference between being a threat and being in the appearance of one. Mireya may be fiery, but I know for a fact that that she has no idea what's coming. Neither do I, really. But if we have other allies, if we have a large enough group to at least look like we know what we're doing, then that may be the real difference.

I think we should go after the Fives. Mireya disagrees. Again, can't say I'm surprised.

Of course, it's not hard to see why. She clearly wanted to ally with the strongest people here, and maybe I am a part of that, but looking at the Fives, it's hard not to have your doubts. The boy is younger than both of us, but he might as well be the same height as me. Strong, too. And he volunteered, so he's prepared for what he's about to enter into. As for the girl, well, there's something in her eyes. Maybe the whole one arm deal isn't her strongest suit, but I know determination when I see it, and so far that seems to be the thing that's most prominent about her.

Mireya's looking for all of the faults. You have to stop doing that, here, or you're dead.

"I still don't think we should do it," she says flatly, like she's confirming what I just thought.

"Well, I—"

"We don't need other allies," she insists. "I don't want them dragging us down."

Mireya's smaller than either of them. I could probably pick her up and throw her halfway across the room. But I still had the faith in her to be a good ally. Why can't she see that?

"I'm going to talk to them," I inform her. "You're welcome to stay here. I'm not fighting you about this."

It takes her a few moments after I start walking away to follow, and she still doesn't look too happy about it.

The Fives are currently at the plant station, though it doesn't look like much is getting accomplished. Not surprising. We're probably in the same boat in that expertise. Kinda hard to get used to vegetation and know what everything is when all you're surrounded by is factories and gray buildings.

The boy looks up when I approach, slightly wary. The girl doesn't notice until I'm standing right behind her. She finally looks up at her partner's staring, starting a little bit at how close I am to her. I nod to the spot next to her, hoping she gets the message. She scoots over a little bit, nudging the boy. Finally she smiles and pats the seat next to her.

"I'm Larz," I inform them, sitting down next to her. "And this is Mireya."

When I look back at my partner, she's standing a little off to the side. She doesn't look like she plans on sitting anytime soon - arms crossed, glowering like it's her job. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to let the fact that she's being so difficult get to me.

"Kole and Kian," the Five girl, Kole, laughs. "Pretty easy to remember."

They already seem so easy to get along with, unlike Mireya. Kian still looks hesitant, focusing more on all of the diagrams in front of us then at the prospect of an alliance, only occasionally glancing over at me like he thinks I'm going to pull something.

"So, how's your day going?" Kole asks. She squints at one of the drawings, comparing it to something in the book Kian's got in front of him.

"Alright so far. And I don't think that's the same one?" I question. I point to the drawing. "That one might be poisonous. Might be."

Kole laughs again. "Might as well hope we don't get forced to eat anything unfamiliar, at this rate."

"Probably," Mireya states. She's staring at us over a book she must've picked up. Kole stares back, eyebrows raised, and looks to me like she's wondering what the hell is up with her. She most likely is. I just shrug in response to her look. Maybe I can't do anything about Mireya's attitude towards everyone in general, the way she's been slightly more angry at everything since the chariots. Maybe it's because we got laughed at by the Capitol during it. But I can do something _here_.

"We were wondering," I ask, trying not to put too much emphasis on the _we_ , lest Mireya start protesting. "If you would like to be allies with us."

Kian finally looks up, watching me over Kole's head. His eyes keep trailing to Mireya.

"The four of us?" He asks, almost disbelievingly.

I can't help but chuckle a little. "I know we're not the most ... expected alliance. But they like that, right? Something different."

Mireya makes a noise under her breath, something like a snort. I glare at her.

"Sorry, go on," she mutters, turning back to the book.

I turn away, back to Mireya, when Kole and Kian look at each other, obviously debating about what would be best. She won't look at me, now. This is what's best for us, even if she doesn't agree. I didn't train for nothing, even if it was the bare minumum. Even if I'm not a professional I know strategy at least somewhat. And I don't want to be like Iridium. I don't want my family to forget me, just like that.

Kole taps me on the shoulder, smiling. Kian finally does as well, the slightest bit of wariness still in his eyes, but it's progress.

"Looks like you've got yourself a deal."

I can't help but feel proud of myself, even a little bit. I won't let Mireya bring any sort of bitterness to this.

I won't let anyone take this away from me.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

I think I've finally found someone whose willing to do what it takes.

Arella Trinett clearly doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about her, and I admire that. I wish I could be that way myself. But what I do know is that we are eerily similar, in a lot of ways. She's going to put herself before anyone else and not risk her ass for anyone, not even an ally. She'll do what she has to and not think twice about it, won't look back once she's gone through with it.

I've already done that so many times in the past few years that doing anything else in the arena isn't an option.

What scares me, though, is the chance of getting close to her. I've turned my back on so many of my own people that it's just gotten easier, not knowing any of them. Not making any attachments. Smiling at them when I see them before, hands tucked neatly behind my back, and then dragging them off when they look the wrong way.

I have high hopes, for what I can accomplish. I'm not going to focus on the fact that dying is a very real possibility. Bigger than anything I've faced so far. If only Arella would stop being so pessimistic about it.

I'm almost positive she's made close to twenty remarks about how terribly things are going to go, probably, and it's not helping. If she makes one more in the next few minutes, I'm going to explode.

I don't even think we ever said we were officially allies. Sometime yesterday we started talking, between Magne circling around me bragging that he already had allies and I didn't and Arella accidentally bumping into him, raising her pretty fantastic eyebrows like she was daring him to say something.

He didn't. It was pretty great.

We've been talking together ever since, going to stations together, acting like allies. And I don't think it has to be said out-loud to confirm it.

So I have an ally. One that I genuinely think I can work with, who won't take unnecessary risks. Who won't hesitate to kill someone.

I hope I won't either.

I choose an empty table during lunch, settling down quietly to watch everyone around me. Arella follows a moment later.

I think we'll be fine, just the two of us. The rest of the field is already formed into quite a few alliances. The only ones who seem to be alone are the One guy, who will probably pick a side eventually, the kid from Ten who looks like he's choosing his solitude while he still has it, and the pair from Nine. Those two, I think, are only together right now because they have no one else to go to. It also looks like they're trying to get along and failing miserably.

Arella follows my gaze, shaking her head as she does so.

"Don't really see the point of trying to make it work if it isn't," she says quietly. I can't help but agree. I mean, I have no room to talk, because I am the one who still converses with Phil on a regular basis even though I'd rather hit him, but that's something I have to do. They don't have to be allies. They can choose other options, just like I chose Arella.

Just like I chose a life I probably shouldn't have to survive, but it might help me survive here too.

"Do we have a plan?" I ask her, curiously. We haven't gotten this far. Arella swirls her spoon around her plate, looking thoughtful.

"Bloodbath?"

"As in, are we going into it?" I clarify. "I think we should. With all of these groups, they'll take us out in two seconds if we don't have anything. And we're a smaller alliance. We might be able to slip right through the chaos, grab what we need, and run for it."

The pessimistic look is back in Arella's eyes, but she has to know I'm right.

"Just don't, you know, trip," I inform her. "Or I'll leave you there."

I'm joking, but Arella still shakes her head, amused.

"Right back at ya."

I like to think that Arella could be someone I wind up trusting indefinitely, without any hesitation. That after all this time I could find someone to be loyal to - someone of my choosing that could have my back eventually too. Sure, we'll always put ourselves first, but I don't want to have to betray her. Not when I've finally found something that I think I could roll with.

"So," Arella continues. "Besides that, do we have a game plan? Or should we just run and hope for the best?"

I wish I was better at this whole strategy thing. Back in Eleven, you don't really need strategy. Usually it's just do whatever you have to to survive, damn the consequences and damn even further the public opinion. But I have sponsors to think about now, who care way too much about what I'll be doing. I'm not used to so many eyes on me like that.

"Guess we'll see when we get in there. I mean, the whole starting platform thing has got me worried."

"You don't think it's just to keep kids from offing themselves?"

"Not in the slightest."

And I really don't. If they were worried about that, they'd have done it a hundred years ago. The rate hasn't changed and neither have the amount of kids willing to do it. I don't think there's a single one this year who planned on stepping off anyway. Certainly not me or Arella.

Which means it's something bigger. Something that will probably screw over half the plans everyone here has and scramble the remaining ones in the seconds after that. There's no use in making plans now. Not until we know what we're facing.

That's gotta be ironic. My life's never been easy. I almost never know what I'm facing until I'm looking it in the face.

Should have known nothing was going to change.

* * *

Way too much shit happened in this chapter, 0/10 would recommend.

I feel like people are going to start getting nervous about the alliances soon if you aren't already, so please have a massive (and I mean massive) amount of faith in me to pull through with it all. A lot of it may seem a tad rushed but that's purely because of how much I had to shove into such a small portion of time. Of course, thank you to the reviewers that do trust me and let me know in reviews, because I love you!

Until next time.


	14. What The World Makes Us

Training, Part Three.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

Things I've found out about myself: my self-esteem issues could be _slightly_ improved.

Slightly.

Of course, to improve them, I'd need to find people who give a damn. Not even allies, necessarily. Just someone who cares.

Long way from my aforementioned seducing everyone strategy. When I thought about doing that, I apparently forgot about the fact that I have legitimate feelings and letting people step all over me wouldn't do wonders for my self-confidence. If I even had any to begin with.

Kinnon thought that we would be able to work together, that whatever skills she already possessed would help us get along and push us forward. Take the bull by the horns, kinda thing. She soon realized that I'm about as cooperative as a particularly annoyed porcupine and finally started leaving me alone after dinner last night when she realized she wasn't making any progress. I could have told her that sooner than last night, to be honest.

So now I'm sitting at the knot-tying station, tying ropes around my fingers, half-wishing that I had the option to fling myself off my platform while also knowing that there's no way I'd be able to even if I had the choice.

I don't want to die. I want to try, for Gizelle, at least. But the hassle of the Games, fighting that hard, I don't know if I can do it.

I already brushed the Head Trainer over here off, knowing fully well that I didn't want an hour long instruction on how to tie knots. It's really not that complicated. Now they're just kind of standing off to the side, watching me with one eye and contemplating quitting their job with the other.

If they think watching over me is a shitty job, then I should tell them about mine.

"Are you alright?"

I flinch, so focused on absolutely nothing at all, that I don't notice anyone else approach. The Seven boy is standing at the other end of the table. Glenn, I think, and he looks awfully concerned.

"Fine. Excellent, actually."

"You've just been frowning since they let us in here, and it's been a solid half hour. Was wondering."

Was I? Hm. I should probably work on that. Probably doesn't make me look that cute.

"And why do you care if I'm frowning or not?" I inquire. He looks embarrassed, scuffing his feet on the floor like he's not sure what to even say.

"I don't know, just don't like seeing people sad, I guess. And you've pretty much looked like that since we got to the Capitol," he supplies.

"Oh, so you've been staring at me."

" _Yes_ ," he replies, weirdly fast. "Have you seen your face?"

I consider that. "Fair enough reason. It is pretty great."

Glenn laughs, still looking a little awkward. I pat the bench.

"Might as well sit down, if you're gonna stare. Make it easier for yourself."

"I'm not staring anymore. Shut up."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, man."

He rolls his eyes, hopping up on the table edge next to me instead of the bench. He stares down at the coils of ropes in my hands. He probably knows that I'm not doing anything of actual purpose and he's just nice enough not to point it out. That, or he has about as much of a clue what to do as I do. The bet's probably not far off.

"You're not frowning anymore. That's good," Glenn points out. I look up at him. I hadn't even realized my face had changed, since he gotten here. I can't help but scowl again. He smiles, like he's satisfied with the development and leans back on his hands. He lets me do whatever I'm doing for a few minutes in silence, absentmindedly kicking his legs back and forth at my side. It's distracting, though. For all Kinnon tried she mostly left me alone when I was doing stuff.

"You know what's shitty," Glenn announces, out of the blue. "My birthday's in like, a week."

"Happy Birthday?" I try. He rolls his eyes again.

"Yeah, super happy, I know."

"Maybe someone will send you a cake in the arena."

Talking to him is just so _easy_ , which is weird considering I barely know him. Maybe it's because all I've known are relationships that are almost foreign. Besides Gizelle nothing in the past few years has been meaningful. Besides Gizelle, I barely know what caring is, and it took a long time for me to even believe that she was being genuine about it.

"You should come meet my allies. Maybe we could—"

"You don't want me, Glenn. Believe me."

"I wouldn't be over here if I didn't," Glenn says, looking a little hurt. More of him being genuine. And it fucking kills me.

"You came over here because you felt bad. Or because you were bored. But wanting me to be with you, to be allies, whatever you want, it's not happening."

"And why not?" Glenn whispers, barely audible. Great. Now I've made him feel like shit. Great job, me.

I have to think about that for a second, to find a good enough reason to push him away. The thing is, the reason's always been there. I just don't like saying it out-loud.

"I fuck everything up," I force out. "Ruin everything I touch. Most times I don't mind doing it, you know? But not to you. You don't deserve that. Neither do your allies."

Glenn doesn't say anything, just continues staring at me in silence as I swing my legs out from under the table, standing up. Now he has to look up to me.

"I've always been alone, in the grand scheme of things. I'm better off that way," I tell him, quietly.

And it's true. That's just the way the world works. It's not happy, and it's not perfect, and in no way shape or form is it going to cut me a break. But I'm used to it. I stopped clinging to anything resembling happiness a long time ago. I'm glad Glenn still can.

I'm glad someone can still think that this world's worth living in.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

"You're not funny."

"Excuse me?" I gasp in mock offense. "I'm fucking hilarious. Let me do it."

Seren sticks her tongue out at me. Somehow I still don't think she's going to let me talk to Duke as the ambassador of our super weird trio. At least not alone.

"To be fair, you're intimidating," I point out. "And I don't think sending Meritt to _talk_ to Duke is a good idea. No offense. You don't talk enough as it is."

"None taken," he says quietly. Which is just typical.

Typical. Ha. Like this situation is anywhere near typical. For one, I'm allied with two Careers, both of whom could probably kick my ass into next week in under three seconds. For one, this isn't a typical year at all, I'm still convinced Alana's going to beat me into the ground in the bloodbath, and we're still outnumbered in every sense of the word.

It's looking pretty great so far. It could be worse. I do know that at least attempting to get Duke is the best option, but I haven't decided if I want a third person around who could kick my ass just yet. Then again, he's been doing a pretty spectacular job at doing nothing but sitting around the past two and a half days, and I'm not so convinced that I'll be able to get the Four guy to go away on my own.

"Guess we're going together," I mutter. Seren looks way too satisfied at me finally caving.

"What should I say?" I wonder. "I'm too awkward for this."

"No, I'm too awkward for this," Meritt insists. "But we're still doing it anyway."

Fair enough.

Elias notices us approaching first but looks about as willing as a sloth to actually move more than two feet away from Duke. Duke, for his credit, just looks kind of amused. I'm pretty sure if three days of talking to Elias hasn't worked, it's not going to start anytime soon.

It takes Seren walking straight up to him to even make him really react. He's got maybe four, five inches on her but with the way she's staring at him it might as well be nothing. To his credit, he still looks pretty relaxed, but clearly the thought of being pushed out is worrying him.

"Give us five minutes, eh, pseudo-stalker?"

Elias shakes his head. "You really think that's gonna work?"

"You're like the creepy boy next door that gets really close to his neighbor only to end up harassing them, only you did the harassing thing first. It's weird."

Duke's trying not to laugh, ducking his head like he thinks we can't tell. Elias looks at him, obviously waiting to get defended, only Duke clearly doesn't plan on going down that route anytime soon. Probably because it's _true_.

"Five minutes," Seren repeats. "And then you can propose, do whatever you want, I don't care."

Elias might be blushing. I don't really get a good chance to look at him, because he finally decides to leave before Seren comes up with a new train of thought to throw at him. Duke laughs lightly under his breath, shaking his head for a moment.

"He's not that bad," he insists. "Really."

"Probably because you've made out with him or something," I almost cackle. I pause at the look on his face.

"Okay, I was kidding," I insist. "Except your face is saying you aren't. Seriously, man?"

Seren snickers and hops up on the table next to him, nudging her shoulder lightly against his "No self-control. I like it."

I'm almost positive this situation couldn't get any more screwed. Life will probably surprise me in a few minutes, though, and throw something new right into my face without giving me any warning. Sooner than later, type of thing. Might as well make sure I'm suffering before the Games, not just in them. As if getting punched wasn't enough.

"So," Seren begins. "You know they want you. Obviously. And you have to know we do too. So what's with the lack of decision making?"

Duke actually looks lost for a second, like he's really contemplating why he hasn't. I wish I could relate to such an out-there thought process. When Seren asked me, I only hesitated for a second. Sure, it might be one of the dumbest ideas I've ever had, but it could turn out to be something absolutely beautiful.

If I don't die first, of course. But we'll focus on that later.

"Not used to people fighting over me, I guess," he says lightly, forcing out a laugh. I know he's probably got a load of fucked up issues stored in his head, whether it's with himself or everyone around him. Probably because I get having issues and the Games were just the cherry on top of the sundae. Maybe that's why I didn't hesitate, when Seren asked. Because having something happen so easy was nice, for once. If you ignore me getting punched in the face for it to happen.

"Just know something," I break in. "You don't have to make any decisions. Not right now, at least. Eventually, yeah, but it can wait. Just know that we do actually want you, not just for the numbers."

Even Seren looks a little surprised that I said something that actually made sense. It's Meritt, standing just behind my shoulder, that seems to get it. He nods. Duke just watches the three of us, watches how we already move as one unit. Like we're supposed to be this way.

Maybe that's the real reason we want Duke. He's just another person with no clue what's best for him, no place that he really belongs. Those types of people are _supposed_ to band together, because eventually, the misfits have to find some way to survive, together or not.

Duke's got his sister's ghost following him around. Meritt won't even tell us where he came from. Seren doesn't know where the hell she's supposed to go in life. None of us have any clear direction.

And me? I have yet to even figure out where I fit into all of this.

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

Nothing's working.

Abel and me aren't allies. That's fine. Someone who's not going to work with me, work _for_ me, I don't need them anyway. But it's the complete lack of any other allies I could have that worries me. I'm not working alone. There's no way.

The question is, who's even left to go after?

Abel and the youngest kid here are the only loner options left - options that aren't happening under any circumstances. Which means I need to approach an already formed alliance, prove myself, and convince them that I'm a good idea for them to take on.

Piece of cake. It's not like it's a lie.

And besides. I like the idea of a group of all girls taking on the arena, outer-District allies who should be down for the count but manage to take on the whole arena. Which is why I've set my sights on the girls from Seven and Eleven, who really, I should have looked at since the beginning. Yes, they already seem close, and considering they haven't shown any interest in finding any other allies, in most circumstances it would be difficult. However, it shouldn't be a problem for me. I'll just waltz over there, take the reigns right out of their hands, and we'll be a happy little alliance.

They're currently practicing with weapons. The Seven girl has an axe - typical - while Eleven has some sort of elaborate looking scythe. Again, something she's probably used before. I didn't go the traditional root. No sickles for this girl over here. I found that I like the spears better. I'm practically built like one anyway, it only makes sense that wielding one would feel better than anything else.

I wait until both of their backs are turned before skipping over, halting a few feet away to watch. Both know what they're doing. Maybe not in the killing sense, but they have control of their weapons.

Just what I like to see. People who take advantage of what they've got.

"Looks like you both know what you're doing!" I call. The Eleven girl turns first, her weapon clutched tightly in her hand. The other girl is slower to follow, staring at me worriedly. I don't really see why.

"I'm Kinnon. Kinnon Arias," I introduce, offering my hand. "And I was wondering if you'd like to be allies."

Both of them blink slowly, trying to side-eye each other while being as subtle as possible. It doesn't work.

"No beating around the bush with you, is there?" The Seven girl says slowly. "Arella. Nice to meet you, I think."

She doesn't step forward, nor does she reach for my hand. Looks like we've got another stubborn one on our hands.

The Eleven girl must take note of the awkwardness. After a moment she approaches me, shaking my hand. Smiling even, and looking more welcoming than anyone I've encountered here yet.

"Sinora. I thought you might be working with your District partner?"

"Abel? As if," I can't help but scoff. "Believe me, working with him doesn't seem like an option."

"Glenn seemed to be talking to him just fine earlier," Arella points out. The second I paid attention to Abel talking to the Seven boy did look better than I had thought, but who cares what Abel chooses to do in his spare time? None of that concerns me, and it definitely shouldn't concern her. I smirk at her. She continues watching me, no trace of emotion in her eyes. Apparently I'll stick to talking with Sinora, then.

"Besides," I continue. "The pair of you seem like such a better option. Capable, able to handle themselves. So what do you think?"

I already know how Arella feels. She's making it quite obvious. But Sinora turns back to her, head tilted slightly. Telling her that _c'mon, it can't hurt_. But Arella's obviously wary of me, for whatever reason, even though I've done nothing to wrong her. It doesn't matter if she doesn't like me. She doesn't have to. All she has to realize is that I can fight just as hard as she can, and there's every chance in the world that I'll be better than her at it. That I'll be the one that comes out on top.

"Fine," Arella grinds out. "Guess we don't have a choice."

No, she really didn't.

I throw an arm around Sinora's shoulder, dragging her in close to me. She looks genuinely happy, almost oblivious to the way Arella's looking at me. She'll be my protégé then. I'll teach her how to weave her way through such a game.

I pick up a spear from the rack closest to me, grinning. "Bet I can hit the bulls-eye before you do."

I managed to hit it yesterday, after a few rounds. Sinora looks skeptical, rolling her eyes, but she picks up an identical spear herself. Of course I'll beat her to the punch - she doesn't even know how to use it like I do. Sinora, however, doesn't have to know that.

"You going to join in?" I holler to Arella, who's currently hacking into a dummy with her axe. She looks up at me in stony silence and buries the axe in the thing's neck, half-way decapitating it. Guess that's a no, then. I'll have to work on her. She'll see that we can be the dream team, that we can get along like old friends. She just has to give me a chance.

I step up to the line, 20 feet from the target. Sinora lines herself up next to me, rolling her shoulders.

"You ready?" I ask her.

"Ready as I'll ever be. Don't make me look too bad."

Sinora may like me, but she has yet to realize one very important thing about how I work.

No matter who she is, no matter what she does, I'll leave her behind in the dust. She'll never compare. Not to how I think, not to how I work, not to how I stand out.

No one else even comes close to mattering, when you look at me.

* * *

 **Kian Harvey, 15 years, District Five Male**

* * *

Sitting in the little waiting room before the private sessions is like watching someone walk off to their death.

Sort of. I mean, the Careers look fine. That's because they know what they're doing, though. I'm just waiting for everyone else to go, most of whom will stand up looking dead behind the eyes, and walk through those doors. I'll probably look the same. Not because I mean to, but because at least looking that means not looking scared.

The One guy just went in, which means it's still a while off me, but it's nerve-wracking, waiting for something like this.

Larz keeps leaning around the Fours to give encouraging thumbs-up to Kole and I. Personally, I think he needs to shove those thumbs-up somewhere we can't see them. Sure, he's trying, but he's also the one who's trained even the bare minimum, who'll probably get a good score no matter what he goes in there and does. We actually have to try. Kole's already told me, several times, that I'm probably attractive enough to get sponsors, shitty score or not. I don't know whether I'm inclined to believe her or not.

Then again, Mireya actually agreed, and I'm almost sure Mireya's not even into guys. So there's that.

It feels weird, being so ... accepted. And for it so happen so easily, too. Kole was right. No one even cares, here. All that matters is your strength and your score and your adversity to live.

Maybe my outlook on the latter isn't the best. If I could live like this, slightly happy and content, then I'd be fine with that. But I can't help but think that even if I did make it back to Five, it'd be the same as I left it. No one's going to care that I won. I'll still be that same, tormented kid who left only I'll have killed a few people on top of that.

"What'cha thinking about?" Kole inquires quietly. I shrug.

"How much everyone's still gonna hate me if I get back. How much I'll probably still hate everyone," I mutter. "The works."

I smile bitterly. Kole sighs, leaning back against the wall.

"You don't know that. Maybe it'll be ten times better. You never know."

"And maybe it'll suck just as much as before," I point out. "Only I'll just hate myself more without other people helping."

I feel bad. I don't know why Kole tries, why Kole's still here at all, why Larz and Mireya chose us. But they're all still with me. For the longest time I've had no one. Maybe I need to start cutting them all some slack, starting with myself first. We'll just see how that works out.

The Two guy goes in. I didn't even notice the One girl go in, after her partner. Probably for the best, she most likely sauntered her way in there anyway. Not something I needed to watch happen. That amount of confidence isn't going to help me any. I wonder how long it could take me to build up that amount of confidence, to convince myself I even deserve to have it. Being away from Five has helped some, but I'm still a long way away from where I need to be.

"I'll work on being less of an asshole," I promise Kole. "Seriously."

"That's what I wanted to hear," she cheers lightly. "If I can do it, so can you. No excuses."

She's right. I really don't have one, not when I'm around her. So I guess I have to try, even just a little bit.

I'm still thinking about that, probably way too in-depth, when I finally realize the Two guy's been gone a solid ten minutes.

The rest of the room seems normal. At ease. Only a few other people have realized. The Two girl, for one. She's got her chin resting in her hands, worrying her lip between her teeth. Staring at the doors. The Fours have finally started to pick up on it, too. It's not against the rules to be in there for that long, but it's certainly not common. Most people take a few minutes, put all their energy into it, and leave. That's how it almost always is.

Another five minutes pass. Larz finally looks over, like he's aware he should probably be in there by now. The Six guy finally gets up and crouches down next to the Two girl.

It's obvious, after yet another five minutes, that something's wrong. Even if he was taking this long to show them whatever, they'd have dismissed him by now.

"Looks like someone's having a worse day than I am," I mutter, none too quietly. Kole nudges me.

"What if something's seriously wrong?"

"Then that's one less Career. You're not gonna hear me complaining."

There's no way he's dead. They wouldn't have let anything come close to that, not before the Games. Besides, it's not like he looked suicidal, or anything like that. Then again, how many people in here could be, especially after this? If something's this wrong with a Career than what's stopping it from happening to anyone else?

Finally, the doors open. The Two girls leaps to her feet. Almost everyone in the hallway cranes their head to look in. Nothing. No Two guy coming out.

"Seren Dobrana," the loudspeaker announces. Still no sign of him. What the fuck?

She has no choice but to go in, leaving her other ally standing alone in the hallway, staring after her silently.

"On a scale of 1-10, how fucked are we?" I whisper to Kole. She looks worried. Way worried than either of us looked twenty minutes ago. She chooses not to answer, leaning forward to look at Larz and Mireya as the doors close. Both of them look equally confused. The whole room is silent, glancing around at each other like no one can decide who should break the silence first.

I was mostly kidding when I was wondering how bad this was gonna get. Kole's optimism had started rubbing off on me a bit, lately.

Now, though? Now we're completely done for.

* * *

No one question what just happened. I mean, you're fully welcome to. It's just the chances of me answering are in the negatives. You'll find out what happened. Sort of. Maybe. I might be being generous with that estimate. Anyway, let me know your feelings on the rest of the chapter as well! Almost everything's been settled going into the Games, we're almost at the top with this journey, and pretty soon we'll be saying goodbye to some of these guys.

I've **updated the blog with the training scores**. One, I'm too lazy to write the actual sessions, and two, I hate doing it. I've tried. I am not to blame for the abundance of high scores this time around, because it is in no way my fault. And before you think about yelling about the clear anomaly in the scores, just remember, I'm not telling you shit. You have to wait and see.

:D

Until next time.


	15. Answers

Interviews.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

I've been gone for 14 hours.

At least, I think so. I was out for a little bit of it, so adding a bit less or a bit more is probably more accurate.

Either way, I don't think the Gamemakers like me very much. Which is why I got the score I did - they're excellent at faking it. At turning the blame away from themselves. How long was I in there? Twenty minutes? A half-hour? Can they really think to justify an 11 on that length of time?

No one's going to believe it. They're going to start questioning it.

Which is probably exactly what they want.

Even if what I did in there _did_ shock them enough to give me an 11, they still gave me it knowing they were painting a target on my back.

One of the Gamemakers passed out. He looked young. Probably just got the job. Funny how they can take the blood until it's right in front of them, without a television screen to protect them. Even my stylist looks wary. I don't think they told her anything, at least not anything important, and she sure as hell hasn't asked me. In fact, I don't think she's said more than three words since we started in here.

There's yet another knock on the door. There's been several, since this process started.

An assistant pokes his head in. "She still wants to see him, and I'm almost certain she's going to punch me if it doesn't happen soon."

Seren's been trying to get in here for the past 15 minutes, to no avail, and the assistant looks more terrified each time he informs us of this. I don't blame him. She probably would. I don't know why they won't let her in. I also don't know how she's done before I am, knowing that she probably looks about ten times more elaborate. Maybe it's because my stylist is moving slowly, carefully, like she's afraid to move too fast for fear I'll bite her. It seems like the 11 is already doing it's job.

"Just let her in," my stylist finally sighs. Giving up, finally.

The assistant leaves the doorway, looking skeptical. It takes all of two seconds for Seren to burst in, heels and all. It's impressive.

For a long moment, she doesn't say anything. She just stands in front of me, silently appraising me. Making sure I'm alright. Kane's the only one that's ever done that, back in Two. He's a panicked mother hen six days out of seven. I've gotten used to that, though, gotten used to him always making sure I'm alright. Seren's different. I barely know her, barely know Kal, and they still care.

And I don't know how to react to that.

Probably by doing something other than just staring back at her. Probably.

"Are you alright?" She finally asks. "I mean, they told us you weren't dead. That's about it. Which did wonders."

"And they weren't lying," I inform her. "Not dead. I'm fine."

Clearly, Seren doesn't believe it.

"I'm going to get Kal. Stay here."

"Don't bother," my stylist interrupts. "He's done. Might as well just take him with you."

Seems simple enough. Just go with Seren, go down to the stage, and do my interview. If only it was going to be that simple.

I don't know where Cicely and Ashlar are. Cicely's off probably getting a migraine about the situation anyway. We're supposed to be Careers, capable of being left alone for more than five minutes without messing something up. But between Seren and I going rogue five minutes into meeting the other Careers and me going missing for hours before they even told our mentors that I was alive, I'm surprised they even let us out of their sight.

Seren's not asking any questions. Maybe she's saving them for when we're with Kal. Maybe she knows, by now, that she probably won't get any answers.

The second we get backstage I feel the eyes.

The Twelve girl pales the second I even _look_ at her. For someone so feisty normally, it's disconcerting. And it keeps happening. The Nine girl glares, like it's my fault she didn't get what she wanted. The Eight guy is trying to convincingly blend into the wall. Neither of the Sevens looked worried upfront, but Kal shoves through them a second later. He looks me over, appraising in the exact same way Seren did, and it's definitely still weird.

"You're officially a mood-killer," Kal says. "Congrats."

Neither of them are going to push. I almost want them to. Because no one here _knows_.

I look up. Alana's smirking at me over Seren's shoulder.

 _Knew it_ , she mouths. She doesn't know either. Maybe she thinks she has an idea, of what's up with me, of who I am. But she doesn't.

"I'm fine," I repeat, unprompted. I can let them in. I can do that. Not fully, but it's more than I've managed with almost anyone else. "Just hurt myself. Passed out. Guess they wanted to make sure I was actually alright in medical before they told anyone."

Which isn't a lie. It's as close to the truth as I can get.

"An eleven for fucking yourself up on accident," Kal mutters. "Unbelievable. I should've done that."

Only it wasn't an accident. Not even close.

Neither of them are going to question the issue, not unless it _has_ to happen. For now, it doesn't. No one else here will come close enough to ask.

What scares me the most, out of all of this, isn't the target on my back and the threat of death, of injury, because of it. I'm afraid that someone _will_ question it, eventually. That when that moment comes I won't know what to do. That for the first time in my life, I'll freeze, completely unable to do anything, because for all I've been prepared, that's the one thing I won't know how to explain.

I'm afraid that I don't have any real answers.

* * *

 **Oxen Ackerman, 14 years, District Ten Male**

* * *

The one good thing that's come of all this hustle and bustle is that no one's paying any attention to me.

Larkin tried, until I shooed her off. No point in her staying with me when she has other, more important allies that she should probably be talking to. There's no way I match up to a Career, especially not in conversation. Glenn's too busy trying to wrangle the Twelves.

Which leaves me alone. Honestly, I'm not complaining.

I haven't been alone, really, since we got here. And I was so used to it back in Ten that it startled me here until I realized being alone wasn't just an option. Even now, I'm really not. Everyone's still milling around me, talking to someone. I don't mind watching instead of participating.

Admittedly, I'm completely terrified of going up there in front of the audience. I'm almost convinced I'm going to completely freeze up and not be able to say anything anyway, so I told Tacia I shouldn't bother going up there. She hadn't even bothered arguing with me, just smiled sadly and patted me on the shoulder. That's against the rules, apparently. I was told there were none.

I haven't yet decided if volunteering was actually worth it. I'm going to die. There's no doubt about that. But I almost don't think I care. It's better than the alternative. It's definitely better than having to live out the rest of my life in District Ten, and even if a miracle happened and I did walk out of the arena, I doubt it'd get any better. We couldn't live in the Victor's Village - that's not who my dad is. We'd still be on the ranch, a lot richer, but I don't think he'd treat me any different.

It's sad, realizing there's nowhere else for you to go.

I wonder if any of the other outer-District volunteers feel the same way. As far as I know, at least, none of them volunteered for someone they were particularly close to. Which means that whatever they did it for, they knew that death was one of the biggest options, and they did it anyway.

I knew, when I stepped out into that aisle-way, that nothing good was going to come of it. I saved someone, sure, but my Dad didn't care about that. He said I was being selfish. That leaving him alone to do all the work wasn't right. Not a mention for my safety, for my impending death.

I wonder if my mother's watching. Now that I'm older I can see why she left when I was five. Leaving for a better life, for a Peacekeeper that probably doesn't yell at her like my father did. She didn't come to see me. I thought, for a minute, that she might. Maybe we're so estranged that she just doesn't care anymore. Maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to go back to her old life, even to say goodbye to me.

"Oxen?"

I startle, a little bit. It's only, Larkin, though, who smiles sadly. Like she knows I'd rather be doing anything than preparing for this interview.

"I'm going up soon. Just thought I should tell you so you can start preparing yourself."

She's just trying to help, just like Glenn. Just like every person who has looked in my direction and smiled. Every smile I've gotten, though, has looked sad. Or pitying. I've gotten through 14 years in life dealing with my father. Maybe that's why I'm not scared of the Games, not truly.

The Nine guy takes the stage, a charming smile plastered on his face. I swallow. That means there's less than five minutes until I go up there, and I know there's no chance I'm going to be able to fake it like he is. Larkin reaches down and squeezes my hand when she notices what is no doubt the deathly terrified look on my face.

"You'll be fine. Just ... don't look at the audience," she adds helpfully. The worst part is, I already have. There's thousands of people out there, all waiting to see tiny, unimpressive little me. Or rather, not waiting to see me. Larkin's trained, and at least the Eleven's are _interesting_. They'll probably be more excited for me to leave the stage than to see me go out there.

The buzzer goes off. I start panicking again.

"Good luck," I tell Larkin, my voice shaky. She squeezes my hand again before stepping away.

"You too. You'll do great," she says firmly, like she's trying to make me believe it. Right now, I'm not inclined to believe her.

Watching Larkin walk up there, I just don't get it. You can tell even she's a little nervous, but it's the kind of nervous the audience likes. That they'll eat up, because they like the sweet ones, the ones who look innocent enough but who will do what they have to do to survive. It helps that she's allied with the Careers and can still maintain that.

I know, right there, listening to her talk about her allies and her chances like she's got all the confidence about herself in the world, that if that's what I have to deal with in the Games, surviving doesn't even sound like the right option. Do I want two different groups of Careers coming after me? Every other alliance? What point is there in even trying to run, when I know that eventually, someone will catch up?

There's only one thing I really can do, and it's take all of the attention off myself. Give it to Larkin, to Glenn, to people that deserve it. I don't need the attention to survive, not like they do. Their lives are depending on it.

I already know I'm a dead kid walking. It's everyone else, who looks at me like I'm doomed but doesn't want to accept that, who can't handle that fact.

Maybe it's time to get everyone else to believe it too.

* * *

 **Siung Jang, 15 years, District Twelve Male**

* * *

Viscaria's been mouthing off on-stage since the second she walked up there.

It's not all that surprising. She's traded in crying for anything but, which means being generally rude, disrespectful, and obnoxious to anyone she doesn't like. She's only done it to me once since the trains, back when I commented in training about how she couldn't throw a knife to save her life.

Not my best wording. I'll admit that.

Glenn, on the other hand, hasn't had to face the brunt of her attitude. It's just that - he's literally too nice to be mean to. He can also swing an axe around like nobody's business, so even if the nice thing wore off, I probably wouldn't say anything to him either. Glenn also hasn't left, probably because he doesn't trust me not to just melt into the floor and refuse to go on the stage.

I've got a lot of questions in my head to ask Edolie Penvarden, though. How many she has answers to, I have no idea.

Speaking of, Edolie looks pained. That's not surprising either. I like Viscaria, don't get me wrong, and I longed to fit in with her. Longed for her company, even. But her attitude's tiring. There have been times when I wished I could've just turned around and walked away when she wasn't looking. Forget about her entirely. I've done that to enough friends in my life, most often times without even realizing. She was interesting, at first, and now it just feels like she's trying too hard.

Glenn pokes me hard in the shoulder.

"Your turn. Don't mess up."

Apparently I spaced out again. Viscaria's already walking down the steps towards us. I sigh in defeat. Guess I can't avoid it any longer.

The crowd does cheer, when I finally walk out on the stage, but it's not the most enthusiastic cheering I've ever heard. Considering I got the lowest score here, mostly because I sat on a crate and pestered the Gamemakers the entire time, it's a wonder they aren't silent. I didn't think I was being annoying. I was just curious - curious about this whole process. I just learned the hard way that apparently asking too much gets you a pretty terrible score.

Edolie shakes my hand enthusiastically, presenting me to the crowd. I try not to look too unimpressed. Edolie towers over me, her wild, curly hair adding even more inches than what's necessary. Her dark skin, wrapped around my wrist, is literally sparkling. It's massively distracting.

We finally sit down. I stare out over the audience. There's so much going on out there, most of them settling into a deathly silence as they wait for the talking to begin.

"Siung Jang from District Twelve!" Edolie announces, quite loudly. Right. I have to focus on her, not anything else.

"How are you doing on this lovely day?"

Time to try something out. Test her reaction skills. I've been ten times more cynical than normal since arriving here. It only makes sense that I finally let some of it loose.

"I was just wondering," I begin. "Why you all spend so much money on this when some of us are going to die tomorrow?"

Her eyes widen a moment before she composes herself, laughing awkwardly. The audience's eyes keep flicking back and forth between us.

"Why do you think we do it? We like a good show. What about you?" She forces out. Turning it it back on me, like it's my fault. But I can't help this little bit of anger rising in me, the chip on my shoulder. It doesn't matter what I think, because I could die and it's going to be all of their faults. They think we deserve this for a rebellion that happened 155 years ago.

"It doesn't matter what I think," I repeat out-loud, noting how bitter I sound. "Nobody's going to care if I die anyway."

That's the truth. I don't have any current friends back home. My father hasn't shown me affection in years and Li is more of a foreign concept than a brother. I wonder if they're paying any actual attention to this, at the most I've talked in years. My teachers are probably shocked.

Edolie smiles again, her patience beginning to wear thin.

"I'm sure there's someone back home. What about your family?"

I hear her, loud as day. But I don't respond. I look out over the crowd, letting my mind wander. Vaguely, from the corner of my eye, I see Edolie open her mouth. Hear her repeat the question. But I just don't care, anymore, what these people want. They're not going to get it from me. Let them think I'm slow, that I'm stupid, that I'm just another piece on their board. That's probably all I am in the long run, anyway.

Edolie's voice trickles off into silence. She's watching me. Everyone is. I can even see Glenn and Viscaria just off-stage, watching me.

I keep waiting. Two minutes isn't a long time to wait, anyway.

The buzzer goes off.

Instantly, Edolie reaches for my hand, as if to hold it up again. I stand up and take a large step to the side, avoiding her. She can't chase after me, only stare as I leave the stage, head down and hands shoved into my pockets. I practically run down the stairs. Anything to get off that stage.

"Siung, wait—"

I shrug off Glenn's hand on my arm. It stings, knowing that he means so well. So has everyone in my life, though, and I have no meaningful relationships left.

I can't help the thoughts in my head. Thoughts that are telling me how wrong this is, but how necessary at the same time. How I don't want to die but wondering about it so often, how it'll happen, when, who will be the one to end it. All these thoughts in my head, all of these musings, they're taking over.

By the end of tomorrow, there probably won't be any of me left.

* * *

Just to put it out there: I'm not updating next week. Too much stuff going on. So I'll be back in two weeks. Hopefully the review train comes back with me.

I literally detest writing interviews. Which is why these three barely even qualify as such. This is the second last chapter before the Games! I've put another **poll up** , mostly because I'm curious. It's been decided for a long time now, so you don't have to worry about any of it actually factoring into who lives and dies. If there's any remaining questions anyone has before the launch happens, ask 'em now and I'll do my best to respond. I've been notoriously lazy about responding to reviews lately. I do love you all, so you're aware, in case I haven't said it enough.

Until next time.


	16. Never Back Down

Launch.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

The threat of death wasn't real, until now.

When I went to sleep last night, I wasn't really thinking about it. I was more focused on Erna and Magne, and how no matter what I do, they still aren't getting along. Magne tried, at first, but even he doesn't look too enthusiastic about the idea now. What it looks like, in truth, is that they're only still here because of me, and that's scary.

How can I make sure both of them are safe if they're too busy running in opposite directions?

It doesn't matter. I have to, in any way possible. Even if they decide to do two entirely different things I have to keep an eye on them. We all have to get out of this.

I just want them to be okay. Both of them asked me to ally. That means something. It's almost always me doing things for other people, having to run in circles. But I don't mind doing it, with Erna and Magne. They're worth it.

Besides. Erna has told me nothing's going to happen. We'll get out of there alive. And I believe her, without hesitation.

There's a knock at the door. I finish struggling into my boots just as Kiero pokes his head in.

"You good to go? Erna's been done for a few minutes, she was just waiting for you."

I can't help but smile. "Yeah! Has she been waiting long?"

"Nope," he says, holding the door open for me. "Said something about wanting to make sure you were alright."

For all Erna is, I knew that she cared. Maybe it was the optimistic thinking that got me to see through everything she shows to other people. She's tough - everyone knows that. The 8 she got proved it. But she's more than that. I guess we both are more than people think.

"Listen to me, hey?" Kiero interrupts, out of the blue. "I know you trust Erna. Magne as well. But watch your back too."

Kiero's given me advice, advice that I can use. This is the one thing he's said the slightest bit forcefully, though, like he knows how I'll react if he fought any harder. He can't though, I don't want him to know. Not about my past. But if he's saying this now, when he hopes I'll remember it, then it means something.

"It's not that I don't think you're smart enough. But don't throw yourself away from either of them. Believe me, your life _is_ worth it. It might not seem like it, but it is."

He's tried so hard to make me see it. But I don't see an option that ends with me coming out of this. How would I live with myself, knowing that Erna and Magne died while I survived, that I hurt people to get there? The difference between Kiero and I is that he deserved it, he fought for it.

I don't want to hurt anyone.

I also don't want to hurt _him_ , because I know that he takes every tribute's death to heart. Until he brings one back it's not going to stop. But I can't decide, not with something that big. I just have to hope, really hope, that everything works out for the best. As long as I keep believing that, everything will be fine.

"Do you regret it?" I ask suddenly. "You - you had allies. Ones you were close to. And you still came out."

I know how many chords that could strike, and Erna's done it enough already. It kills me to even make him remember that.

"A lot of days at the beginning, yeah, I did. But it gets easier. And I finally got it drilled into my skull that it's better that I came out than died with them, because at least I carry that with me. People won't forget about them, as long as I'm still here," Kiero mused. "I'm not gonna say it doesn't suck sometimes. It does. There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss Spens and Elora. But there's something else, and I know you don't see it now, but winning ... it can fix things. A lot more than you think. Make your life better, even if you wake up sometimes and hate yourself for it."

He believes that. Just like I believe that I can do more good by protecting other people than protecting myself. There's already massive parts of me I want to bury, want to erase entirely. But for my allies sake, I'll stick around, protect them as best I can.

"I'll try," I promise him. "I'll try to fight."

It's a lie, but I've been lying through my teeth for years to make people feel better. I don't think Kiero will accept that, necessarily, but it might help him sleep better at night. I don't need him to be yet another piece of collateral damage that I managed to screw up.

"Anyway," I break in. No more being sad, not anymore. Only looking forward. "Erna's probably wondering where we are. Right? And Mia?"

Kiero nods, but I still feel bad. I knew I shouldn't have brought it up. Now he probably hates me too, doesn't even want me to come back.

"Jesus, there you are!" Erna all but yells. "Was beginning to think you died on me prematurely."

I force out another smile in her direction, but even she must be able to tell that it's forced. That doesn't matter anymore, though. As long as she's okay, as long as both of my allies are okay at the end of the day, then I can live with it.

There can't be any other alternative.

* * *

 **Viscaria Cortese, 16 years, District Twelve Female**

* * *

Siung left already.

What an ass.

He was already ready before I even woke up, and the second I told him to wait for me so we could at least be on the same hovercraft, he bailed. I'm not really in the mood for small talk either, but I wouldn't have left him.

And now I have to leave Cade to actually get on the hovercraft, and personally, it kind of feels like I'm going to pass out. I already told myself that I wasn't going to cry, because I really don't need that today on top of everything else, but I still want to.

I don't need to make myself look weaker than I probably already do.

The second I step out of the elevator and onto the roof, I freeze up. Cade wraps an arm around my shoulder.

"Do you know if Siung's in there?"

"Don't think so. The first one already left. You're the last one."

As if I didn't feel enough pressure.

It takes what feels like hours to step away from him, to make myself look anywhere but his direction. He's only three years older than me. He won when he was a year older than I am now. If only he wasn't a foot taller with infinitely nicer arms, then I might have more confidence in myself.

The second I turn around to even look at Cade, I just want to go back and hug him. He's smiling sadly, like he knows how terrified I am. He probably felt like this too. And sue me for not wanting a hug before I go into this.

I have to be strong, though. I have to show everyone I can be strong, that the girl in the goodbyes isn't the only one that exists.

I start walking.

It's not a long walk, but it feels like a dramatic one. As soon as I get in the hovercraft it's like I can feel the dread in the air, the horror everyone's feeling at what's about to happen.

The next thing I feel is absolute relief, when I catch sight of Glenn. He pats the seat next to him, the only empty one left, and I quickly shuffle over to him and drop myself into it. He tries to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace.

I take a second to glance around the little room. There's not a single Career in here, and that's including the Sixes and the Ten girl, which means someone purposely shoved them all into the other hovercraft. Being stuck with them - that's what Siung gets for leaving me. Besides that, only the Ten and Eleven boys are missing. I have no desire to be in the middle of whatever disaster the other hovercraft is.

The second someone comes over, holding a large syringe with an even larger needle, I feel the panic rising back up. Glenn reaches over and takes my hand, nodding reassuringly. I don't watch as the plunger gets pushed down, as the tracker disappears under my skin. I just cling to his hand, trying not to focus on the fact that it feels like I'm falling apart at the seams.

Glenn seems so calm, even though I know he's probably panicking just as much as I am. When it comes down to it, he'll still probably show more panic than I do. But the fact is right now I feel like I have the strength of a nine year old and I still can't stop shaking.

"We're gonna be fine," Glenn insists.

"We don't even have a plan," I hiss under my breath. "Besides don't die. Who knows if we'll even get that far."

"Just run. I'll grab Siung and be right behind you."

I'm not going to complain. But I don't know how I feel, knowing we could be going into the arena with no supplies, not a weapon to our name. Sure, it might mean we're all alive, but at what cost? We'll be dead in a few days without that stuff anyway.

I might not look like a fighter, but I know I can. Maybe not well, per say, but not everyone here has a clue what they're doing. I can fight someone for something, at least go a few feet in for a backpack, for christ's sake. I'm not going to fall apart if I see someone die.

If I see someone coming at me with a sword, I might, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If everything goes according to plan, I'll gather the courage to attack someone, not the other way around. My skills with a knife might not be that impressive, at least according to the Gamemakers, but I'll show them.

I'm scared to die. I'm not scared to go after others, especially if I have the upper hand.

"Do you think you can kill someone?" I murmur to Glenn. I'm still holding his hand.

"I sure hope so," he says quietly. I don't know if I can picture him doing it. But I've seen weirder things. Twelve tends to do that to you. That's definitely why Siung ended up on the weirder scale.

"We can do this," I decide. The Three girl, on my other side, looks at me like I'm crazy for even sounding so determined.

 _Screw_ her. Screw everyone except Glenn and Siung, really. If everyone else in here can think they have a chance, why not me? Maybe I'm yet another rich kid from Twelve, another one who whines and complains when they don't get what they want.

But I also know I'll have no problem throwing everyone else out of the way when it comes to that. And maybe I don't have the arm strength, but I'll find another way to do it.

"We can do this," I repeat, still clutching tight to Glenn's hand. He chuckles under his breath, but nods determinedly.

I just have to hope I'm right.

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

I make sure I'm the first one off the hovercraft.

Half because I just want to get this over with, and half because if I have to deal with eight people staring at me simultaneously again any time in the next 50 years, I'm going to scream.

Seren, Meritt, and Kal at least took turns. They're still not making me decide anything. Elias didn't bother looking anywhere else, and Cerise didn't know whether to turn on the begging eyes on the glare. Lynn shrugged at me the second she sat down. Alana doesn't care, and Larkin doesn't know me well enough to have any impact.

So getting away is my first priority. Which is why Elias decides it's the prime opportunity to grab my arm and stop me from doing that.

"Seriously?" I mutter. Elias grins. "It's not funny."

"Sure it is."

"I don't have time to make out with you right now."

"You sure about that?"

" _Elias_."

"Jeez. Fine. Just wanted to let you know not to make a stupid mistake."

"And what's the stupid mistake?" I ask him. "Letting Cerise and Alana rip me apart three days from now?"

"So what?" Elias says. "You're going to go with them? Then why don't you just make that decision?"

Because I don't know which one is the right one. I know Cerise will snap eventually, and I know that Alana will follow, if not the other way around. I'll be the first one of the group they go after, or Elias, which means I'll be screwed anyway. On the other hand - Seren, Meritt, and Kal look like they have it figured out. Like they know how to work together, like they're friends, almost. So where do I fit in with that? Maybe I will, but I don't know that right now.

I do know that they genuinely care, and that Elias, for all he tries, is looking for what will get him the furthest. And I don't know which one scares me more.

"I will," I explain. "And you'll be able to tell which side it is, believe me."

He finally lets go of my arm, shaking his head. He's still smiling, though.

I watch him walk away with his stylist. At then someone else puts their hand on my shoulder.

Fuck's sake.

"Don't yell at me," Seren interjects. "Just wanted to say good luck, no matter what happens. Also, Kal has volunteered to take over making out with you. Or me. Meritt opted out, though."

Kal, who had been standing a solid five feet away looking the opposite way, turns around and glares at her.

"I did not," he denies. "But fine. Also, why does get Meritt get a pass?"

"Because he's got a top secret boyfriend that he won't tell me about."

Kal's eyebrows scrunch together. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Go bug him yourself. He won't tell me shit."

Kal turns around, eyeing Meritt, who is speed-walking down the hallway away from the situation.

"Why do I not know anything," he mutters under his breath. "Anyway. Must be going. If Alana gets any ideas, please save me."

I don't know if he means now or in the bloodbath, but either way he looks concerned. Seren just laughs and nods, taking a step back. She smiles at me.

"Seriously. Good luck."

"You too."

I still don't know what I'm doing. Not when I take the walk down the hall, not when I finally get into the launch room and see the tube. That just sends me into an irrational _oh fuck_ moment. This is happening. I don't get to go back from this now. Kiero warned me five years ago not to do it. Valiant has every year since then, reminding me that I didn't have to. Jesper, Vance, Alistair ... they've all done it. And I'm still here.

The second I see the outfit I kind of regret it.

It's not terrible. Just adorned with a lot of unnecessary buttons. But I have a sinking feeling I've seen stuff like this before. The simpler black pants aren't really a giveaway, nor are the lace-up boots. I just really hope I'm wrong.

Verity helps me into the coat. It's pure white, with buttons all down the front. Hanging down to mid-thigh. Way too crisp and appropriate looking for anything like the Games.

"You're all colour-coded," Verity explains. "One for each District. Nothing else to it. White for One. The others ... well you'll find out."

"Matching with Cerise," I surmise. "My dream come true."

Verity roles her eyes. At least matching with Cerise means I'll be able to keep track of everyone else too. Pick out who I should be running at and who I should be running away from, when I finally decide.

I button up the coat and step into the tube. Verity smiles at me. I wish I had that level of confidence.

I don't really even have time to gather it up before the tube starts rising.

The first thing I notice is that it's taking too long. At least in comparison to what I've been told. A few seconds of slow movement, nothing more. But it's been longer than that. Rising up a lot higher. That's when I start getting nervous.

The second thing I notice is the sun, when the tube finally opens up.

Then I hear the waves.

And then I finally look down, a hundred feet up into the air, and see nothing but water below me.

Someone screams. That's what snaps me out of it.

I look up. I notice, absentmindedly, that I can't move my feet. So that's why they did it. I guess wavering a hundred feet up in the goddamn air with nothing but water below would warrant this. Five feet in front of me, probably less, is the ship. Five feet that we'll all have to jump to get on it.

That's it. I knew the captain-like coat was a disaster when I saw it.

My heart's pounding, but I make myself take it all in. We're all in a semi-circle, platforms in the water, around the front end of the ship. And yep, definitely a solid hundred feet in the air. Besides that, it might be normal. When I lean back, all I can see is the ship stretching for a thousand feet - maybe longer. It's massive. Cruise ship, looks like. The cornucopia's sitting just in front of us all, supplies stretched all around it.

And I still don't know what to do.

There's thirty seconds left when I finally realize I'm sandwiched between Elias and Kal. Alana is on Kal's other side, grinning like she just won a goddamn prize. Elias doesn't even look _fazed_. Kal looks like he'd already be in the water if his feet weren't frozen to the plate.

There's only one thing coming to mind, besides that of the screaming, internalized panic in my head.

Kiero Mearlove was in the right boat when he told me not to volunteer five years ago.

Literally.

And now I have about twenty seconds to make a decision that's going to decide whether I live or not.

Fuck my life.

* * *

Sorry not sorry, AKA worst starting position ever in an SYOT. I want an award.

You don't even know how long it took me to decide if this was me being too much of a dickhead or not. Eventually, I decided I just didn't care, and I was doing it anyway. Also, I told you the coats weren't suspicious. Why does no one ever believe me? I have legitimate outfit references for this story, though. It's getting out of hand and I don't even know how I got here.

I like predictions! Who do you think is going to die in the bloodbath? Who do you want to die? Who has absolutely no clue what's going to happen at all, because it's a mess? Poll's still up on my profile if anyone else wants to get in on that.

For a final message - just a note on how much I love each and every one of these guys, whether they're assholes or not. They're all very dear to me, whether they die in the next chapter or twenty from now. Thank you to everyone that's actively stuck around until this point, and I hope you'll still be with me for the rest of it. I love you all. Also, something that would be super cool? #getmeto150reviews before the bloodbath. Please?

Until next time.


	17. My Demons

Bloodbath.

* * *

 _Mayday, mayday.  
_ _The ship is slowly sinking.  
_ _They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling.  
_ _They're all around me, circling like vultures.  
_ _Trying to break me and wash away my colors._

 _I need your help, I can't fight this forever.  
I know you're watching.  
I can feel you out there._

 _Save me if I become my demons._

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I've accepted that I'm going to need longer than 30 seconds to sort this out.

Which means there's no way in hell I'm actually jumping when the gong goes off.

For one, that's making myself a target. I guarantee, besides the Careers, there won't be many people that go for it right away. Two, Viscaria's already screamed and looks nowhere prepared to jump either. Three, I've been staring at Siung for the past ten seconds and he's still staring into space like he has no plan of looking in this direction anywhere in the near future.

Four, there's now fifteen seconds left. Shit.

Elias, two down from me, would be bouncing on his feet if he had the ability to. Lynn, six down from him, looks almost the same. Why do they, of all people, need an advantage? Where's mine?

10 seconds. Whatever plan we think we had is gone now. To run, we need to jump. And while there's a few different halls and doors and staircases on our left, that's the direction everyone is going to be running in.

5 seconds. The wind picks up a little bit. I look at Viscaria. Her eyes are shining but she clenches her hands into fists, nodding at me.

The gong goes off. I feel the exact second my feet unfreeze from the plate.

For a moment, no one moves. And then Elias leaps off his plate.

He clears the deck by a lot more than he needed to, tucking into himself and rolling across the ground. His hand reaches out and closes around a throwing knife. It takes me a second too long to realize who's directly across from him.

"Siung!" I yell, panicking instantly. Almost everyone turns to look at me. Everyone but him.

The knife buries itself in his throat.

His body goes flying backwards off the platform. Viscaria screams again.

That's when all hell breaks loose.

Lynn, Cerise, and both of the Twos jump at the same time. Elias picks up two more knives. Viscaria, now openly sobbing, drops straight to her platform, hoping to avoid being his next target. The next knife he throws is aimed at Larz. Instead of ducking it, he jumps, angling himself to the side and hitting the deck straight in front of both of the Fives. He checks over his shoulder, making sure Elias is distracted, and reaches over the edge of the ship towards his allies. Ready to haul them on if he has to.

There's no way Viscaria's going to get on herself. Which means I have to go get her.

I watch the Sixes standing on their platforms. Staring at each other. Alana won't stop smiling. I don't see Kal's face at all until he turns just the slightest, looking over his shoulder at Duke. I don't know what that look is even supposed to mean.

Kal jumps. Alana leaves her platform a second later. He hits the deck and she lands half on top of him, instantly wrapping herself around his legs.

Meritt gets there before she even has a chance to do anything.

Meritt jumps straight into it, making it even more impossible to keep track of. One second Alana's in it, and then she's getting thrown out of it. She goes flying a foot away, instantly righting herself, but by then Meritt's grabbed Kal, hauled him up, and slung him in the complete opposite direction.

Well. Guess that's settled that.

I watch Elias finally stop, reaching over the side of the ship towards Larkin, who grabs his arms and practically flings herself on-board. Seren picks up a sword in each hand, staring down Cerise, who looks positively manic. What is with some of these girls and their scary ass grins?

I look back towards Viscaria.

She's gone.

What the hell?

I instantly look for her hair. Finally, I spot her on the other side of the ship, closing her fingers around a knife lying close to her plate. So much for thinking she wouldn't get off alone. When she finally catches my eye, she's stopped crying, but she still looks horrified. She picks up the knife, hesitates, and then finally runs. I watch her book it up a - so far - empty staircase and then disappear around a corner.

Which leaves me alone.

I should probably move.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

The second I grab Kian, I know that we're gonna need to move quicker.

Mireya's still standing on her platform across from us. I don't blame her. The wind's not that strong, but she's also got the muscle mass of a stick. She'd probably get blown away halfway through her jump.

Kian meets my eyes, apparently realizing the same thing, and nods. He reaches back out for Kole the second I take off running towards Mireya.

Which also involves dodging about six different things that are going on in the middle.

The Nine girl is trying to outpace Larkin to the nearest weapon. Instead of either of them grabbing it, they run straight into each other, sprawling out across the ground. The Eleven girl is only a step behind the two of them. The Eight girl zips in front of me, bee-lining straight for her partner, who doesn't look to be doing anything of actual importance.

I'm two feet from Mireya when someone finally slams into me.

I just manage to catch sight of the Six girl's face before she stabs down with the knife in her hand. It comes dangerously close to my eye, probably would've taken it out if I hadn't twisted at the last second. It just nicks against my cheek instead, still burning like all hell, but nothing incapacitating. I bring my knee up against her stomach, hearing her breath leave her in a whoosh. Mireya screams something at me as I fling the Six girl off of me. She doesn't go that far, instantly whirling back on me, but that's when the Seven guy decides now is a prime opportunity to jump off his plate and straight into her.

Well, not straight into her. Right next to her. Maybe inches between them. All she has to do is kick a leg out and he runs right into it, sprawling out across the deck. Apparently she decides his terrified, wide-eyed look is more promising than my own more determined one.

I shove myself to my feet and take a step back, stretching an arm over the edge of the ship. I feel Mireya's hand lock around my arm but I don't have any interest in looking away, not if she's going to turn back on us at any second.

And then the little kid from Ten, Oxen, runs straight between them.

This is unbelievably hard to keep track of.

The second I look at him, I know it wasn't an accident. Her eyes lock on him instead of the Seven guy, who scrambles away a good five feet towards the nearest backpack. Giving him time to run.

Oxen slides to a stop right in front of her. Not even trying to get away.

Her hands lock around his neck.

 _Snap._

I've got maybe five seconds before she remembers we're still here.

I finally turn around and grab a hold of Mireya's arm, swinging her onto the deck next to me. I shove her in the direction of where Kole and Kian should hopefully still be. I watch her run straight towards them, leaning down to scoop up a backpack and a small sword on her way.

Oxen's body is still lying on the ground a few feet away, neck twisted at an awkward angle. The Seven boy grabs the backpack lying next to him and books it. I finally do the same.

Alana must take a moment too long to decide which one of us to go after, because no one chases after me. I do the same thing Mireya did, darting in a little closer to the Cornucopia to grab the largest backpack I can find. There's a mace, just beyond the shadow of the mouth.

I look back at my allies. Mireya's got her sword. Kole's got a machete in her hand, and Kian has a spear. None being weapons they actually know how to use. I used a mace in my session.

The Careers are too busy going after each other to even notice me run for it.

Someone, Kole probably, must get the message. As soon as I dart for the Cornucopia she takes off running, making sure both Kian and Mireya are following. Heading straight for the exits. She knows I'll be right behind them as soon as I'm done with this.

My fingers close around the mace. The girls from One and Two go windmilling past me, too busy trying to kill each other to even see me standing there.

I glance around the Cornucopia and see a last glimpse of Mireya disappearing around the top corner of one of the staircases. They're all gone.

I duck around the Four guy, who is looking around like he doesn't even know who to go after. I glance around one last time. No one else is going for the stairs at this exact moment. I leap up them two at a time, shouldering open the door at the top. There's a few hallways and doors branching out from it, but again I see the tail end of Mireya's ponytail disappear around the corner of one.

I finally manage to catch up. I sprint around the corner.

Kian's not with them.

"Hey!" I shout after them. Kole slides to a stop, Mireya nearly crashing into her back. Both of them turn, catching sight of me, and that's when Kole finally realizes.

He's still back there.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

Alana is too busy finding someone else to terrorize to even notice me, crouched down in the shadows of the Cornucopia. To be honest, I think she actually ran after a group of people a minute ago and hasn't been back since.

Ideally, it's not the best spot. In fact, it's probably one of the worst. But so far, no one's paying any attention to me.

Elias and Lynn are trying to keep an eye on the girls from Seven and Nine. Larkin's keeping the girl from Eleven from getting any closer, but doesn't look too enthusiastic about killing her. Seren and Cerise have been circling around each other since this thing started. Seren's nose is bleeding, but so is Cerise's entire head. I'm pretty sure Seren smashed it into the side of the Cornucopia.

Wish I'd seen it, to be kinda honest.

I have no idea where Duke is. I haven't seen him since I jumped. I know Meritt's just around the other side.

I'm half-risen, peering around a crate to make sure Seren's not getting her ass kicked, when the guy from Eleven almost runs straight into me.

He slides to a halt, wide-eyed and panting. He's got a backpack, but not a single weapon in his hand. He eyes the knife in my one hand, and then sees the machete in the other. He swallows.

I'm not that much of an asshole.

He takes my two seconds of hesitation, rips his backpack off his arm, and swings it at my head.

Nevermind.

I narrowly avoid the blow to the head he almost gives me, except he continues the swing and smashes the bag into my knees. I don't go over, not fully, but he takes the second of advantage and crashes into me all the way.

He's not strong. Nowhere close. But I didn't expect him to do it, either, which is why he lands half on top of me, trying to pry the machete out of my hand. I start panicking, even though, behind the irrational part of my brain, I know I'm stronger than him.

So I do the first thing I can think of. I stab him.

Immediately, he screeches like a demon, recoiling as fast as he can. He backpedals, my knife stuck firmly in his thigh, but I refuse to let go. I rip it out, sending blood splattering across my face. He makes another inhuman noise and continues sliding away. He disappears around the edge of the Cornucopia, leaving me sitting on my ass with a bloody knife in my hand, still not quite convinced that I just actually stabbed him.

I grab the Cornucopia wall for support, hauling myself up. The Eight girl is now glaring daggers at me.

It's not my fault he attacked me. I still kind of feel like my heart's going to explode, at any rate.

I finally chance another glance outside of the Cornucopia.

Seren goes flying to the ground at Cerise's feet.

Shit.

They're both exhausted, that's easy enough to tell. All I know is that now, Seren's got one sword instead of two, and the other one's lying closer to me than it is to her. It must've gotten knocked out of her hand sometime while I was preoccupied. Probably _because_ I was preoccupied, Seren was probably too busy worrying about me getting myself killed to pay attention to herself. Cerise still has a spear and a sword, clutched tightly in her hand.

If Meritt hasn't already reacted, then he's probably preoccupied. I very carefully inch towards the sword Seren dropped. Instantly, Cerise points the spear in my direction, not even looking at me. Christ, that's creepy.

"You're not going to move."

Apparently not.

"And you," she says sweetly, staring down at Seren. "Are going to die."

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I knew things were going to get ugly early on, but none of us were supposed to die. If Seren's done for, right here, right now, then I'm going to be next. If Meritt can even manage to get out, then he'll be one of the first ones they go after.

It can't end like this.

My hand clutching the bloody knife is still outstretched, just barely, towards the sword. I let it clatter to the ground.

Cerise turns towards me, just the slightest. Seren kicks her leg out.

Her foot connects with Cerise's knee. I don't hear anything like a crack, but it does do enough damage that Cerise goes stumbling back a few feet. I lunge for the sword just as Cerise does. She slams her foot into my ribs. I don't know if that cracks, either, but it does take any chance of breathing normally I had away. I sprawl out on the ground, struggling for breath. Cerise kicks the sword away from me, sending it skittering outside of the Cornucopia.

"Cute, really," she offers. "But you had to know you were fucked from the start."

She's actually laughing. I really don't see how it's funny.

Seren, braced upright on her elbows, looks over at me. She's still got one sword clutched tightly in her hand, looking up at Cerise without an ounce of fear. I wish I felt the same way.

If Meritt could intervene now, that'd be great.

Cerise levels the spear with Seren's throat. I really don't want to watch this happen. I don't know if I can.

And then a shadow falls over me, goes completely over me, and someone crashes into Cerise.

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

The plan is as follows: grab Rover, dump Magne's ass wherever it's most convenient, and run for it.

What I do not plan on is Magne running straight into Kal, who proceeds to stab him in the thigh. To be fair, I didn't really plan on Kal doing anything other than getting chased or hiding. Admittedly, he does look kind of terrified about what he just did anyway.

Rover grabs my sleeve, stopping me from making any more progress, and that's when I see how much his heels are dug in. He's not going to leave unless we at least try to get Magne out of here.

Dammit. Dammit all to hell. Magne's already managed to drag himself out of the thick of things and away from Kal, who probably wasn't planning on killing him anyway. It would take all of two seconds for me to get to him, maybe another few to haul him up, and then leave.

But I don't want to, is the issue.

The look in Rover's eyes is saying I don't have a choice in the matter.

"Stay here," I hiss at him. Rover pales, apparently not all that happy that both of his allies are going to be away from him for more than three seconds at a time, but I'm not exactly letting him make the decisions here.

Magne sees me coming, almost scowls, and then clearly thinks better of it.

As soon as I get close to him, trying not to draw any attention to myself, he holds out his arms, like he's an infant. I watch the Seven girl try to figure out how to avoid literally every Career looking at her to grab a weapon, and grab a hold of his arm.

"You're lucky I came back for your ass," I grumble under my breath. He struggles to his feet with my help, slinging an arm over my shoulder. I wrap my other arm around his waist, nudging him backwards.

"Let me know if we're about to get attacked," I order. I tighten my grip on him, making sure he's fully upright.

"If someone comes running at you, I'll let them."

"And if that happens, I'll make sure I fall on top of you so you'll suffocate," I comment idly. Magne stares at me in object horror. He started it, I don't know why he's so surprised.

I keep backing up, keeping an eye on the Cornucopia, until I feel Rover's hands on my back. He holds out his arms, offering to take Magne from me, but I shake my head.

"Just go, before someone notices us all stumbling around like idiots."

Rover trots off to the nearest door, holding it open. I yank Magne through it after me. We really do look like idiots, though. Magne doesn't even have a backpack anymore. I still have mine, and Rover has the one that was literally sitting right in front of his plate. There's a set of brass knuckles in the outside pocket. I let go of Magne's hand and reach for them, gently removing them from his backpack, before shoving them in my pocket. I wasn't kidding when I said the pack was literally right in front of him. Someone planned that. Thank you, Gamemakers.

I look down each end of the hallway, and eventually pick right. I nudge Rover until he starts moving towards the set of elevators at the end. He looks at me, eyebrows raised, and then presses the button.

"Why are we going in the elevators?" Magne questions. "What if they get stuck?"

I let go of him. Immediately, he stumbles into the nearest wall. Rover yelps and reaches for him in concern.

"Unless you plan on walking up a flight of stairs in the next few minutes, then get in," I suggest helpfully, as the elevator doors slide open. Magne stares at me, waiting to see if I'm serious. After a moment he sighs, hopping one-legged into the elevator. Rover follows, keeping a hand on his back.

"W-where are we going? Rover asks nervously. I re-adjust my backpack and the sword lying between my shoulder blades. All Rover's got is one tiny knife that I practically had to force into his hands. I slam my open palm against the rows of button along the elevator wall.

"Whichever one looks most interesting."

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

I don't trust Kinnon for a damn second.

She thinks I do. She thinks I'm eating out of her hand. I learned a long time ago that trusting people gets you absolutely nowhere, unless you're sure. She barged into our alliance, tried to take over. She has, in all senses.

But neither me or Arella are willing to accept that.

I watched her leap off her plate, the first of the three of us to do so. She looked so full of energy, so ready to go. She had run straight over to me, not hesitating in the slightest to help me make the jump. As soon as I was by her side she had grabbed my arm, insisting that we needed to go.

Arella was still on her plate.

All I know is that she tried to leave her, without a second of hesitation. Kinnon didn't care what happened to Arella. Kinnon probably didn't care what happened to me, either, but so far I had showed more loyalty. Maybe that was worth it to her. Worth keeping me around for.

But I wouldn't leave Arella. Which is why we're in the situation we're in.

We're some of the only people left at the Cornucopia, besides the Careers who are still fighting each other. There's no way Arella will be able to get the axe she wants, not with the Four guy in the way. Right now, we probably have the closest shot we're going to get to run. We're all closer to the exits. Kinnon and the Four girl both have spears pointed in each other's directions. Larkin's watching the Two guy, but not daring to even get close to him. I don't blame her. She is blocking him from whatever's going on behind her, though.

There's shit going down inside the Cornucopia. I can hear it. But I really don't want to stick around to find out what it is.

"Arella," I snap, harsher than I intend to. "It's not worth it."

Kinnon starts backing up towards the exit without even looking at either of us. Arella finally meets my eyes. She's got nothing but a knife - a long one, I might add - but it's not what she wants. I don't have what I want either, but a sickle's gonna have to do for now. It's not worth dying over.

I just don't know if they're going to let us go.

The Fours aren't malicious for no reason. But Siung's body literally went flying off his platform, when the Four guy's knife hit him. How hard did he have to throw it for that to happen?

I meet Lynn's eyes. She doesn't want to hurt us. Not in the slightest.

I take a hesitant step back. The Four guy doesn't move, staring at me evenly. Lynn steps forward, carefully, and puts a hand on his arm. I take another step back when he looks down at her. I look over my shoulder. Kinnon's already made it to the doorway, but hasn't left us. That's a shocker in itself.

"Arella," I repeat, this time at a whisper. "Let's go."

I don't think she has to be told twice. She tightens her grip on her knife and runs towards Kinnon. Again, another shocker. In the seconds that the Four guy's distracted, I follow her.

By the time he's realized that his partner just distracted him from killing us, the door's swinging shut.

"Go down!" I shout at Kinnon. "Everyone else went up!"

At least, the majority did. The bigger groups. The Six girl, when she chased after them.

At the first staircase, lined with plush carpet and ornate railings, Kinnon practically sprints down the stairs. Arella's close to her heels. I chance a look back. No one's following us, but I don't want to take any chances.

We go until we hit the second last floor. These are the public stairs, though, which means there has to be more below us. Staff quarters, maintenance rooms, the whole underside of the ship. We don't have time to find that right now, though. We just need to get far enough away, and then hide.

Kinnon skids past the first door that probably leads to nowhere and darts down the lone hallway on this side of the ship. It's lined with all kind of doors, little numbers stuck on the front of them. Cabins, then. I slow just enough, past the first room, to push on the door handle. It opens just a crack, but it's enough to know. They'll all open.

Halfway down the hall Kinnon stops, not even looking winded. Without asking for our approval, she opens the door next to her. It opens on a small cabin, nothing impressive. Just a bed, a little desk with a television, and two chairs. There's a little porthole on the opposite wall. We're a lot closer to the water now. Just seeing it that close makes me uneasy.

As soon as I'm through the door Arella reaches behind me, slams it shut, and slides the deadbolt across the opening.

It's silent for a long moment, or at least it would be if it felt like my heart wasn't pounding loud enough for everyone to hear. I don't think I've ever felt that much terror, not even the first time I dragged someone into an alley in Eleven. That was a different kind of fear. I didn't think I was going to die, then, not when I had a league of Peacekeepers who would prioritize my safety over their victims. I had protection, then, even if it didn't feel like it. Here I'm on my own.

"You could've gotten us killed," Kinnon almost immediately scolds, looking at Arella. Arella, for her credit, just rolls her eyes.

"If you hadn't been so focused on leaving me there we would've been gone a lot sooner."

I see Kinnon's hands clench into fists and I shove myself between them before something terrible happens. I really don't need that now, especially when it still feels like my heart is going to explode out of my chest.

"Can we please just take a minute to be grateful we're all alive," I beg. "And save the bullshit for later?"

Kinnon scoffs, muttering something under her breath, and sits down hard on the edge of the bed. Arella looks down at me blankly. She probably doesn't understand how I can even trust Kinnon. When I went back for Arella, when I refused to leave her, I watched Kinnon shove aside her own District partner to pick up a weapon. To his credit, Abel barely stumbled, just stared after her incredulously. She'll leave everyone behind, in the long run. Sure, both Arella and I will put ourselves first, when it comes to that, but not this soon.

I knew I wanted allies. I know from experience that there's safety when there are people who are watching your back.

Right now, it just looks like I'm going to be caught in-between them.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

One second I'm accepting the spear coming down towards my throat, really wishing Kal wasn't watching, and wishing even more that Meritt would appear out of whatever hole in the ground he always uses to get around and do something. The next, I'm wondering if there's one last thing I can do to make her falter, to stop this from happening.

In the third second, Cerise is gone.

I blink. What the fuck?

The harsh _thump_ next to me startles me out of my confused stupor.

I look over, still half laying on the ground.

Found Duke.

I don't know where he came from. What I do know is that wherever he came flying from, he took Cerise with him. Without a weapon, I might add. Cerise screams something foul at him, thrashing wildly. It takes me a second to let the fact sink in that Duke _really_ doesn't have any weapons, and Cerise is probably two seconds from turning him into a kebab.

"Duke!" I yell. He looks over at me, very briefly, before Cerise elbows him in the face. I toss the sword in my hand at him. He can't really do much, not with her fighting him so much, but it clatters to the ground next to him, close enough to his hand that all he has to is reach out and lock his fingers around the hilt.

I should probably help. But now I don't have a weapon either.

I look back at Kal, who darts to the side of the Cornucopia and rips a machete off the wall. He practically flings it at me and I snatch it out of the air just as Cerise finally shoves herself away from Duke, spitting profanities.

She stands up, slowly, watching as Duke backpedals enough to finally stand up. She looks over her shoulder at me, smile bloody.

"What did I tell you, Elias?" She practically cackles, yelling out to him. " _Useless._ At least to us. I could've told you this would happen on the first day, but would you have listened to me? Of course not. "

She's trapped between both of us, even if she does have two weapons. I look around. Kal's still in the shadow of the Cornucopia. He's got a hatchet in one hand and another sword in the other, like he just randomly decided what to throw at me if I need it. He shrugs helplessly at me.

Elias, who has finally noticed the turn of events, can't even get close to us because Meritt's standing in his way. Every other outer-District tribute is gone. Lynn's behind Meritt, but closer to Kal. No way to move without someone attacking. I'm still surprised Larkin hasn't run away. She's just standing behind Elias, looking sufficiently terrified, but not moving. I should give her more credit.

I'm just glad Alana left for a few minutes.

No one moves. You can hear the wind in the air, hear the waves crashing against the side of the ship.

I glance at Kal. Just barely. But he gets it.

He sends the sword in his hand flying towards me, clear over Lynn's head. Cerise turns on me in the same moment. My fingers lock around the hilt of the sword just as her own comes up towards my face. I block it, the screech of metal and metal almost directly in my ear. I bring my other sword around towards her stomach and she leaps backwards, almost straight into Duke.

Cerise ducks under his sword, which goes swinging straight towards her head. She almost catches his shoulder with the tip of her spear. Probably wouldn't have if I hadn't abandoned all pretenses of actually managing to hit her and just jumped on her back. One of my swords falls to the ground at her feet but I hold on tight, wrapping my legs around her torso, and tugging back until she loses her footing.

She lands straight on top of me, driving an elbow into my stomach. I grab one of her hands with my free one as she attempts to get away, pulling back on her fingers until she drops the sword. Duke locks a hand in her coat, the white fabric now splattered with her own blood, and rips her off of me. She spits in his face, still screeching.

"You're a traitor, you know that?" She laughs. "First your sister and now you. Never good enough for the Careers, not good enough to win."

He punches her straight in the face. Well then.

Her nose is gushing blood, now, a cut split open on her cheek. She falls to the ground, not even looking upset. In fact, and maybe it's just because she finally realizes how done she really is, there's a little bit of panic in her eyes.

"Least I'm not a bitch," Duke supplies. Cerise chuckles lowly from where she's kneeling between us.

"Just a different kind."

I tighten my grip around the sword. This just needs to end. You shouldn't get last words here. There's no time for them.

Cerise wraps an arm around Duke's leg out of nowhere, intent on yanking him down with her. He struggles against her, half-brought down to the ground, but it almost doesn't matter. His arms are still free. His sword cuts halfway through her neck at the same time my own buries itself in her back between her shoulder blades.

The amount of blood is almost alarming. She jerks forward, half-slumped against Duke's legs, blood pouring out of her neck and back. He doesn't even have the choice to step back - her nails are still locked into the knee of his pants. He drops down towards the deck with her. I grab the back of her coat and pull her away, ripping the sword out as I do so. Duke's own comes out of her neck easy enough, splattering blood across both of us.

I look down at him, but he's not looking at me. Not even at Cerise's body. I turn around.

Everything, the tense, unmoving silence, fell the second Cerise did.

Elias goes straight for Meritt, who is halfway across the deck before Elias even gets close. Larkin throws a knife towards him - one that would have hit him if he ever stayed in the same spot for more than two seconds at a time. It goes flying off into the water, disappearing into empty air. I drop my hand down to Duke without even looking. He grabs it and hauls himself up next to me, shaking a little.

Meritt circles around the Cornucopia just as Lynn decides that it's time to stop playing games. She dives after Kal.

He throws himself to the side as she swings her spear at him, and by then, Meritt's there. Kal rolls away, drawing his legs up as she stabs down towards him again.

Meritt's hand locks around the end of Lynn's spear. He ignores the blade cutting into his palm, the blood dripping down onto the ground, and rips it clean out of her hands. She barely even has the time to watch it happen.

He switches the spear to his other hand, turns it around, and plunges it into her chest.

Everything stops.

Larkin gasps, horrifically loud. Kal, still laying on the ground underneath them, watches wide-eyed and terrified as the tip of the spear breaks free from Lynn's back. Her knees finally give out, her eyes glazed over in horror, and she collapses to the ground.

Elias stares in shock, completely frozen, as Meritt drags Kal up and shoves him out of the Cornucopia, hands still bloody. Kal comes to us without complaint, still looking like he's going to have a nervous breakdown. Meritt leaves the spear where it is, instead picking up the hatchet Kal dropped and a bundle of knives, tucking them under his arm. He backs up towards us silently, eyes darting between Elias and Larkin. Neither of them move. None of us do.

That's when Alana gets back.

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

Alana's screaming is probably going to keep me awake at night, long after it's stopped.

I don't know if it's outrage or disbelief. There's no blood on her hands, which means whoever she chased after ran fast enough. She didn't kill anyone else, and just got back in time to see two of her allies dead, one of which she was closer to than the rest.

I don't know whether's shes screaming at me or at someone else. It might be at all of us.

I just can't focus on anything other than Lynn's body.

I thought ... I thought after Cerise it'd be over. I wasn't going to go out of my way to save her, not against Seren and Duke. I didn't really want to anyway. With her out of the way, it might be easier.

Not anymore. This wasn't what I wanted to happen.

Alana's still yelling. Larkin looks like she's two seconds from crying from the stress alone. I feel that.

Kal not-so-subtlety slides completely behind Duke. But Alana's not even looking at him.

Finally, she storms her way over to me. She shoves me hard in the chest with both hands, looking furious. Larkin moves to stop her, to tell her to calm down, but stops herself at the last second. Probably the smart decision.

"You wanted this to happen, didn't you?" Alana shouts. I just sit there and take it. She's gonna have to get it out eventually. Besides, it's not like that's a lie. "You should've done something!"

Should've gotten myself killed instead of Cerise, is what she's saying. I didn't think Alana would take it so bad. Cerise wouldn't have mourned her much, at any rate, if it had been the other way around. I know Alana has issues, not specifically, but I know she does. More than I thought, apparently.

"You shouldn't have left," I tell her evenly. "Or do you just want someone else to blame other than yourself?"

If Alana had been here, the outcome would have been different. I don't doubt that for a second.

Alana's gaze hardens, coming close to murder. But she won't do it. Not here. Not now. I catch Duke's eye over her shoulder. All four of them are still just standing there, closer to the exits than any of us are. Maybe it's because they think I'll finally react, if they run. But I don't have the energy. Not after what I just saw.

Duke must get that message. He nudges Meritt, who instantly takes off for one of the doors. He props it open. All of them are watching me, like I'm the one that decides whether they get out of here or not. Maybe I am. Alana's too busy on her tirade, and Larkin won't do it on her own.

Kal goes. Then Seren. Soon it's only Duke left standing there, just staring at me. The worst part is, he looks so fucking _sorry_ it almost hurts. He made his decision, though, and whether he regrets it eventually isn't my fault. I did all I could, and if he still chose them, then that's how it is. Maybe it'd be easier to convince myself of that if it didn't sting so bad.

He runs after them. Alana finally stops, not even seeming to care that they're all gone. She just starts pacing across the deck, muttering to herself.

"What do we do now?" Larkin asks quietly. She's torn between staring at each body - to Lynn's, to Cerise's, and then to the tiny, barely there body of her District partner. I saw Alana's hands on his neck. I wonder how she feels about being allies with her now.

"I don't know," I admit. "I really don't."

I'll think of something, though. I always do. In here I don't have a choice.

Whatever I decide, it has to be sooner rather than later. Because I won't survive much longer like this.

I run a hand over my face and step back towards the edge of the ship. I can't look at this anymore, can't look at the carnage. It's not helping and it's not worth it, either. I stop once I'm at the edge of the ship, looking outwards. The platforms look so much closer, from this angle.

I look out. There's only water, water as far as the eye can see. A force-field, maybe, giving that illusion, but it sure looks that way. Looks like home.

Lynn would've had a chance in here.

It occurs to me, distantly, that this was almost exactly where the Twelve kid fell from after I put a knife in his throat. The water's a lot bloodier it should be, though, and there's no sign of his body. No sign of anything, really. There might be something down there. Multiple somethings, knowing our luck.

Hopefully we can change it. Right now I'm not being so optimistic.

* * *

 **Scroll back up and read the chapter you animals.**

* * *

Ya girl Twist, completely incapable of large bloodbaths.

I feel like I should be apologizing but I don't really want to? At least one of you had to see this coming at some point.

On a more serious note, a massive legitimate apology to all of the creators whose characters I just killed (fat necrosis i can't believe siung actually placed 24th because he didn't originally you just peer pressured me into doing it without even really trying). I didn't love them any less than everyone else, the plot (and me) demanded their sacrifice for the greater good. Or because I didn't know what the hell else to do with them. Just the way it is. On a completely unrelated side-note that literally no one cares about, I have a thing for dual killing this time around. So there's a lot of two people getting credited for killing one person type of thing, because that's how I like it. Just check the blog and make your life easier.

Don't hate me too much from here on out xoxo.

Until next time.


	18. Stranded

Arena, Day One.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

I don't even know where we are.

We ran for what felt like forever - five floors up and almost to the other side of the ship entirely. Even though I'm in front of everyone they've all been yelling out directions. Now that we've slowed it might be easier to tell where were going, and where we need to go.

It's also a lot harder to ignore just how much my hand's still bleeding.

I have it wrapped in my coat, which is almost the same colour anyway, so I wasn't really paying attention to it. When we finally stop for more than a few seconds and I actually take a look at it, untangling it from the inside of my coat, a small puddle of blood slips out of my clenched grip and onto the floor.

Everyone stares. Kal makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

Okay, so I didn't realize how much it was actually bleeding. I bled a lot more in my training session. Still, everyone looks alarmingly concerned. All of us are blood splattered. Half of Duke's face is probably going to be bruised by tomorrow morning. Seren's nose has stopped bleeding, but it's covering the bottom half of her face. The shallow slice on her arm from Cerise has already stopped bleeding.

Somehow, even though he's not really injured, Kal still looks the worst. Maybe it's because he got thrown around like a sack of potatoes and attacked on three different occasions. Maybe it's because he knows that if Duke hadn't stepped in, Cerise probably would've killed him after she had finished Seren off.

Speaking of. Duke's the one who finally snaps out of it. He steps forward, grabs my wrist, and all but drags me through the glass double doors to our left. It's a lounge of some sort, with massive armchairs pointed in every direction. Eventually he decides on slipping behind the bar at the far side of the room, rummaging around under the counter with one hand while still holding onto my wrist with the other.

"Hey."

I look up. Seren sends a compact little first aid kit sliding down the bar towards us from the opposite entrance. Duke catches it and pops the lid open, watching as Seren turns the tap on to the sink and begins scrubbing at the blood on her face, shrugging off her coat to look at the cut on her arm.

Kal boosts himself up until he's sitting on the counter next to us, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room. There's nothing in the distance. Maybe there doesn't need to be. If this ship's big enough, which it appears to be, it'll be enough for their entertainment.

My hand's burning like no tomorrow. I have no idea what Duke's done or what he's currently doing, but most of the blood is gone. There's practically a trench in the middle of my hand from the spear but Duke wraps the whole thing with gauze and then a layer of bandages. He looks up at me.

"Good?"

"Yeah."

"He gonna make it?" Kal asks, looking down at my hand. Judging by the look on his face, he's torn between knowing it happened because I potentially saved his life and being completely grateful for it.

"I'd say he's got a pretty good shot at survival," Seren mutters, looking around Duke at my hand. "Hopefully."

The four of us just look at each other, for a long moment. I didn't think it was possible to get that many close calls in the span of 15 minutes, yet here we are. All alive. All miraculously, mostly uninjured, and fine. I didn't think it would scare me, seeing their lives in so much danger, until right now. It's like in that moment my life didn't matter at all. I can count on one hand the number of times that's ever happened in my life, and it's eerie to think about how quickly it's happened here.

Seren shifts and finally just settles on attaching herself to Duke's back, wrapping her arms around his torso. He peers back over his shoulder down at her.

"Thank you," she says simply, but you can hear the weight behind it. A _thank you for picking us_. For saving us. "Also, this would be a lot less awkward of a hug if you turned around."

Duke shakes his head but smiles, turning around to actually hug her. He still looks a little shaky, despite his confidence. Maybe Cerise got to him more than I initially thought. Killing Lynn ... it was just an action. Not something I wanted to do, but something I needed to. Seeing Seren look so relieved, seeing Duke actually the slightest bit happy no matter what he did to get here, seeing Kal being able to take a deep, tension-releasing breath; it's worth it. More than I thought it would be.

Maybe that is one of the scariest thoughts you can have - that you don't care what you have to do, not when it matters most.

Maybe nothing matters right now though, except for the fact that we're here.

* * *

 **Kian Harvey, 15 years, District Five Male**

* * *

I knew my luck with life was something else, but this is getting ridiculous.

We were halfway towards the stairs when Alana decided she was going to follow us. I was behind Kole and Mireya, I was the one checking over my shoulder to make sure Larz wasn't dying. I was the one that saw her coming. No one else.

I also, conveniently, was the one who had to make the decision between running faster and hoping for the best or terrifying everyone by telling her she was after us and hoping Larz would eventually be around to help.

So, because I'm stupid and too strong-willed for my own good, I turned around towards her _by myself_.

I couldn't even see Larz anymore; he was probably too in the thick of things. Kole and Mireya, probably half-deafened by the commotion, didn't even hear me stop. I checked behind me to make sure they're still going. Almost to the stairs. I just needed to distract her for a few more seconds.

I turned back towards Alana, completely underestimating just how close she actually was, and then the tomahawk in her hand cracked into my side. She fucking threw it at me.

She broke my ribs with a single throw.

I remember picking the tomahawk up in my own hands and tossing it back in her direction. It wasn't the greatest throw in the world; I don't even think it hit her. But it did cause her to have to dive out of the way, lending me a few extra seconds to re-collect myself, ignore the pain, and run for my life.

I also knew there was no way I was getting up the stairs when it felt like I was being stabbed each time I took a step. I crashed through the nearest doorway, nearly crying out when I put too much pressure on my bad side, and quite literally dove into the closet two doors down, kicking the door shut behind me.

Less than ten seconds later footsteps pounded through the hallway. I didn't have to be a good guesser to know it was Alana, coming after me. Which means that, if everything else worked out, Kole and Mireya got away unharmed and Larz hopefully followed without even realizing I was gone.

Alana must've given up. Because a few hours later, I'm still sitting in the damn closet.

I'd find that abnormally funny if laughing didn't hurt like hell.

I'm sitting less than 50 feet from the Cornucopia. I have no idea what happened, where my allies are, or how I'm going to find them. All I know is that there were four cannons, and I don't think any of them were my allies.

The only three people who have given a damn about me these past few years are okay. Kole in particular. And that means a lot.

So much for the uncaring, asshole facade I've spent the past few years perfecting.

Finally, I dare to shrug my coat off. For whatever reason, they decided we got a deep purple that would probably blend into the sky at night if we tried hard enough. It takes me what feels like forever to even get it off, leaving me in the thin white t-shirt that's underneath. I yank it up. My whole _side's_ purple too, intermingling with blacks and blues and there's no way even sponsors can fix this, not when it's internal.

I lean back against the wall, sighing deeply. Even that hurts.

With at least some of the Careers so close, there's no way I can move, let alone run. But if I don't, they'll find me eventually. Alana has to have known she hurt me, she didn't throw it for no reason. She'd be an idiot to think I actually made it far.

Eventually, they'll come looking.

I tighten my grip on my spear, wondering just how soon that'll be.

* * *

 **Mireya Daltier, 16 years, District Three Female**

* * *

"We need to go back for him."

I don't know if it's Kole or Larz who's having a bigger crisis about the fact that Kian's literally missing. Possibly dead. There were two other cannons, after the deaths we saw. He could already be dead.

I should tell them that. I don't think they'll listen, though.

Larz even went back, as close as he could, and looked. There was no sign of him.

"We can't," I inform Kole. "We have no idea where he is. So unless you plan on walking back to the Cornucopia to ask them _,_ we're probably not gonna get any results."

There I go, being the bad guy again. I know Kole has every right to go back for him, to want to. But what's the point of letting her die too, of letting Larz die when he follows her?

"So that's it, then?" Kole asks me bitterly. "We just forget about it?"

I don't want to forget about it either, that's what they don't get. It'll be even worse if Kian's face isn't in the sky tonight. Then we'll have to go looking for him, or Kole will on her own. I just don't know what could have happened. He was right behind me. I should've noticed.

I feel enough guilt about it without them making it worse.

"Not forget. Just realize that if Kian's smart, he'll know we can't risk ourselves, that we—"

"He didn't have anyone," Kole snaps. She's never snapped before, not at me, not at anyone. "He told me that himself. And now two seconds in, something goes south, and we're proving him right."

The thing is, I want to go look for him. But the biggest thought in my mind is that if I die, there's a chance my Mom does too. On the other hand, if we never take risks, this arena will probably end up killing us. They didn't go to all this work making one hell of an elaborate ship for it to not have its tricks.

We've barely been in here a few hours and we already don't know what the hell we're doing.

Larz hasn't said anything. All he's been doing is staring out the floor to ceiling windows leading out to the balcony. It's not like we're even moving, we're just motionless in the water, stranded here. And right now we need to make a decision, because I've got a feeling this place is gonna seem even more never-ending at night.

"Larz," I sigh. Finally, he turns, looking at me, and then to Kole.

"I want to see who's dead first. Sun's going down anyway. For all we know, Kian ... Kian could already be dead. If he is, I don't want one of us dying for no reason. If he isn't, we _will_ go look for him. I promise."

I don't know if Kole wants to accept it, but I don't think she has a choice. If he's back towards the Careers, she's got no chance against them by herself. Her eyes, filled with steely determination, don't look anywhere near ready to accept that as an answer. I never thought we'd be here already. If Larz had listened to me the slightest we wouldn't be. We wouldn't have them as allies, we wouldn't have to worry about Kian.

We'd probably be fine.

Probably isn't good enough, though.

If we find out he's alive, eventually there will be a part of me that says how wrong it is, leaving him behind. I'm torn between feeling terrible for leaving him there in the first place, and wishing he was already dead.

And I don't know if that makes me a terrible person or not.

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to sit here.

It's infuriating enough that we barely got anything from the bloodbath because Arella held us back, but it's even worse that neither of my allies think we should be moving. We're sitting ducks here. We need to move, to take charge, to establish ourselves in a position of power before someone brings that crashing down.

I'm not used to just sitting still, and I'm definitely not used to listening to someone else.

Sinora's sitting behind me on the bed, looking anxiously out the porthole. Arella's propped herself up on the desk in the corner of the room, feet resting on the chair in front of it. We've barely spoken since we got in here. Sinora's pleas not to argue worked. For now. I just wonder how long they'll last.

Arella glances at me out of the corner of her eye. Not long, then.

I scoot backwards along the bed until I'm resting next to Sinora. Her eyes don't leave the window. This is unfamiliar territory to all of us, but she seems even more nervous about it than anybody.

"Hey," I smile. "It's alright. Not like it can hurt us in here."

Her expression doesn't change the slightest. Behind me, Arella scoffs.

"Gonna hurt us eventually," she points out. "They don't put a group of kids who can't swim in an arena filled with water for shits and giggles."

"I'm aware of that," I snap. "But there's no need to worry about us now, when they won't hurt us. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I've already lost count of the amount of time's Arella has stared me down in the past few days, and the number is both insanely high and infuriating. I never did anything to her, wronged her in any way. It's like she thinks I stole something that wasn't even hers to begin with.

Sinora must take note of the way we're looking at each other almost instantly. She watches us both for a moment, almost eerily observant. Her eyes are more closed off than I remember, though, her smile not coming as easy. Back in training she had laughed at what I said so easily. For a moment, it had almost felt like friendship, until I could feel Arella glaring daggers at me.

Finally, she looks at me. Smiles, even. But I can tell instantly how forced it is, how much it's killing her to do it.

Was I wrong, to try and leave Arella behind at the bloodbath? Wrong to try and further myself because she's doing nothing but drag me down?

Maybe, just maybe, when I tried to leave Arella behind, Sinora's loyalty left too.

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better," Sinora says, glancing at the both of us. "Really."

I wipe the worried look off my face and smile back at her. I turn to Arella. It's only a second before her happiness disappears again, before it turns into a look of uneasiness when she looks at me. A look of distrust.

I tried to leave her behind because it would have been easier. Nothing to see here kind of thing. And maybe she still would've escaped. In fact, I'll give her the credit and say she would have. Arella's a strong girl. One that I didn't want in my way, if it ever came to that.

I didn't want to do it myself. I really didn't. But now that we're in this position, well.

She has to go.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

"We need a plan."

Neither Larkin or Elias looks at me. Larkin's too busy watching Elias, who's too busy watching the hovercraft scoop Lynn's body up.

It's not like there's any going back. She's dead. Just like Cerise.

It hurts. Of course. You'd have think I'd gotten so used to this type of bullshit that it wouldn't matter, at this point. I sure as hell didn't think it would. Maybe because I didn't expect it. In fact, I expected the opposite. Cerise should have killed Seren and stopped Kal from leaving, just so I could see the look on face when I got back and started towards him.

The fact remains that Meritt probably would've gotten away, and Duke never would have trusted us if he had stayed. But we would've _won_.

I was looking forward to that taste of victory, considering I've never gotten one in the giant pile of garbage that is my life. Guess I'll just have to find another way to get it.

If only either of them would fucking listen to me.

I open my mouth. "I think—"

"It doesn't matter right now," Elias says, sounding way too bitter for his own good. The hovercraft scoops up Oxen's body as he says it. I chance a look at Larkin, who presses her lips together as hard as she possibly can as his body gets carried again. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and snaps them away just as quick. Almost as fast as his neck snapped beneath my hands.

It wasn't even close to the amount of satisfaction I wanted. He didn't even put up a fight, just stood there and accepted it, and by the time he fell dead at my feet his almost-ally was scrambling halfway across the deck and the Three guy was gone. There's also the fact that his ally, the younger Five guy, must've gotten away in a matter of five seconds, near impossible with the broken ribs he probably has.

He's close. There's no way he got very far. And the second I find him, he's dead.

Well. Maybe not the second. He got away once. Now I want to draw it out so that he knows he can't escape, that no one's going to come back for him or get him out of the situation.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when Elias leaves the doorway we had all been standing in while we waited for the hovercrafts to come in. This is probably one of the only places they'll be able to collect the bodies. Once people start dying inside the ship, well, that's a whole other story. Wonder how creative people will get when they realize the bodies will be sitting for a little while.

Larkin stares at me for a moment before following Elias back towards the Cornucopia. If she doesn't stop looking at me like I'm going to bite her, eventually, I will. It's not like she's serving any real purpose anyway. At least Elias and I both killed someone, lessened the competition just a little bit

The fact remains that Cerise didn't either, not before she lost her own life. I'd have thought half of the bloodbath would have been at her own hands. Guess I was wrong.

I also thought I'd have more blood on my hands. Or any, for that matter. Really, a snapped neck isn't as satisfying as some people initially believe.

Finally I follow them both back towards the Cornucopia. The blood's still in thick puddles where the bodies were, but it's a little easier to look at now. Elias still hesitates, looking around like he doesn't quite know where to go or what to do from this point on. And I thought he was supposed to be our leader.

"Do we have a plan?" I ask suddenly. "We should have gone after them."

Elias stares at me, and I can see the barely-concealed anger in his eyes.

"You think that's the solution? To go after them? We're outnumbered, we're outgunned—"

"You say that like we don't have an entire arsenal at our disposal," I yell, throwing an arm towards the Cornucopia. "You shouldn't be angry at yourself, or at me. You should be angry at them. This is _their_ fault. _Their_ doing. Don't pretend like it's any other way."

The silence lapses into something awkward. Larkin's the peacemaker, here, but I just don't think she's going to get anywhere with all of the tension going on.

"It's still not the answer," she says quietly. "Elias is right. We can't do this."

"Of _course_ Elias is right!" I laugh sarcastically. "Why would it be any other way? What, are you both to scared to actually walk up to someone and kill them? If you're too scared to go after your boyfriend, Elias, you don't have to worry. I'll sever his head right from his body before you even get close."

Elias looks two seconds away from killing me himself. Maybe it's Larkin that stops him, or maybe it's the fact that he knows I'm right, deep down. He just stares at me in silence, hands clenched into tight fists like he has to restrain himself from moving.

"You're a Career?" I question. "Start fucking acting like one."

I stalk over to the Cornucopia. I already have one tomahawk, resting against my back, but I grab another one off the wall to hold in my hand. I grab a backpack with my free hand and an assortment of knives, shoving them into my belt. Larkin watches anxiously as I adjust everything I'm currently holding, looking around to see if I'm missing anything. Finally, I look up, and I'm not able to wipe the smile off my face when they both look at me.

"Now let's go kill someone."

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

Someone's been following me since I got up here.

I hiked my way up to the fourteenth floor, pretty sure that no one else had come up this far yet. As far as I know, when I finally found a little directory next to one of the elevators, the Cornucopia's on seven, right where the helipad should be. I got a backpack, an extremely small one I might add. There was nothing in it but an empty water bottle and a knife in one of the inside pockets. Considering I didn't grab any other weapons, I was fine with that.

I had finally found a little water fountain, about to fill the bottle up, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

Normally I'm not that paranoid, but considering I'm one of the only ones in here that's alone, the feeling's growing on me. And I'm almost certain what I saw was a person, darting across the opening of the hallway I'm standing in.

I didn't want to make any noise. If by some chance they hadn't seen me, and they were just running in general, I wasn't going to tell them I was there. So I kept moving.

Only she followed me up to the fifteenth.

I know it's a she. The Twelve girl. One of Glenn's allies. She's not that fast. That, or she's purposely trying to tell me she's following me, which I seriously doubt.

The fifteenth floor is mostly open air, like the deck we started on. There's pools around every corner, as if there wasn't enough water around us, and a solarium at the opposite end, which is where I end up. I prop open one of the doors and step inside. There's a little whirlpool in the middle, surrounded by a whole bunch of deck chairs. The entire thing's made of glass; I can see in every direction. If she really is following me for a purpose I'll see her coming.

I finally see her, only it's not really _her_. It's her reflection, in the glass opposite me. She's still behind me, probably in the doorway of the solarium. She probably hasn't realized I can see her reflected back at me. What I can see is that she has a little knife clutched tight in her hand and nothing else to her name.

If she wants my backpack, we might have a problem.

I don't know if I can kill someone, let alone her, not when she's almost a foot shorter than me and probably about ten times as terrified. Hurting someone through manipulation is one thing, but actually ending their life ... I don't know if I'm ready for that. If I'll ever be ready for that. Besides, she's one of Glenn's allies. Where the hell is he? I thought I saw him get out, but what if I was wrong?

"You gonna kill me?" I ask, out of nowhere. Her reflection in the window freezes. So she really didn't know I could see her.

"Haven't decided yet," she says bluntly. To her credit, she sounds like she could. "You gonna give me the backpack?"

What the hell does she think could possibly be in it? Sure, she'll have a way to carry around supplies, once she finds them. I guess I'm getting thrown right into the wake up call that is going after someone for a backpack and killing them for it.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for just a second. Which is exactly the time she jumps on my back.

She's tiny, but I also wasn't prepared for her to try and tackle me. Her weight isn't enough to take me down but it does make me stumble just enough that my foot slips and I send us both right into the middle of the whirlpool.

Fantastic.

It's a good thing it's only two, maybe three feet deep. Instantly, Viscaria's train of thought leaves me and my backpack alone and begins wondering how she's going to get out of the water. My head's already above it. A second later she shoves herself away from me and comes up, spluttering. She glares at me from across the pool, like it's my fault we fell in.

I grab the lip of the pool behind me, half-hoisting myself out, when she grabs my legs and yanks me back in.

For a second I think she's just worried that I was pulling something on her, and then her knife grazes my hip straight through my shirt, and I realize she's a lot more serious about the backpack than I originally thought. And of course, because I'm an idiot, my own knife is tucked firmly in my backpack, where I can't reach it in my current state.

I kick out at her, which doesn't do much in the water. All she does is back up for a moment before leaping towards me again, brandishing that damn knife. I dive to the side, watching as her knife goes straight through the spot my head had been, before burying itself in the wood of the deck. I make for the stairs, hand wrapping around the metal railings just as she wrenches the knife out.

I yank myself out of the water, practically leaping back onto the deck. She gets up to the second stair, feet just leaving the water, as I turn back around towards her.

I grab her arm as she lunges at me again, forcing her back just the slightest bit. I use the momentum to shove her back towards the pool. Her feet stumble on the edge, just like mine did, and she goes careening across the stairs.

Her head cracks into the railing.

Her body flops back into the whirlpool, blood pouring from her head. I watch in horror as the water around her goes red and then pink, swirling through the jets.

A cannon fires.

It takes me a second to realize it's hers.

For a second, it doesn't seem real. Only her head keeps bleeding, and I notice the awkward angle of her neck twisted in the water.

I just killed her. And I didn't even mean to.

I bury both hands in my hair, staggering back several feet. I didn't want to kill her, I didn't mean to kill her. Except it doesn't matter. My back hits one of the support beams in the middle of the room and I can't stop my legs from giving out. I end up in a heap on the ground, feeling the tears burn at my eyes. I didn't even know her, didn't know who she was or who she was friends with or even her last fucking name. All I know is that it doesn't matter, because I'm staring at her body floating upside down in the pool, the water dyed by her blood, her neck broken because I pushed her the wrong way.

If I hate myself for it, how many other people do too?

* * *

Suffer without me putting the placements, because I don't want all of you assholes (I say that with an immense amount of love, I swear) scrolling down for the rest of the story. At least if you go look at the blog beforehand take pity on my poor soul and tell me you didn't.

Hope everyone's doing okay. Thanks for all of the reviews the last few chapters, you guys are amazing and I love you all. Etc, etc. Don't have much else to say about this chapter because I'm thinking about exams and am currently whiny. Amazing, I know.

Until next time.


	19. Shadows and Monsters

Arena, Night One.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

"So where do you think he went?"

Alana gives me a look. "If I fucking knew, we wouldn't be standing here."

Fair enough.

Despite Alana's wishes, we haven't found anyone. We combed the entire seventh floor. There's not much here, except the Cornucopia at the end and a giant rock-wall on the other side. In-between there's nothing but cabins and staircases and empty hallways. No people.

Nothing she was hoping for.

Alana doesn't think the Five kid could have made it any further than this floor, but what if she's wrong? What if we're just sticking our noses everywhere we shouldn't? Either way, we're not making any progress. She can kick down as many doors as she wants. It won't mean anything if we don't find someone.

I can't help but feel like this is wrong, somehow. When the group of us started training in Ten, we knew what that meant. We knew it would help us kill someone, if we ever got chosen. But just plain old killing someone is different than stalking after them after the dark, like they're injured prey. And _he is_ , if Alana's right.

She stalks down to the end of the hall and opens another door, disappearing inside. Elias appears in one of the open doorways to my right. He leans against the door-frame, listening to the sounds of Alana rummaging through the room like the Five kid's hiding in one of the drawers.

"What do you think we should do?" I ask him. He sighs.

"Go the fuck to sleep and start over in the morning. Following her is exhausting."

"We could leave."

"I lied. Following her is less exhausting than running from her."

Elias is right, too. If we leave, we're more targets to add to her list. And I have a feeling she won't let us die quickly just because we were allies.

Alana exits the room. She stares at the both of us, un-moving, in the hallway.

"Extraordinarily helpful of both of you, really. Care to actually search instead of just standing there?"

Elias moves on in silence, looking awfully defeated. It's scary, seeing him so disheartened. I thought of all people, he'd be the one to lead us when it came down to it.

I nod at her and she smiles in satisfaction, moving onto the next room. I do the same. The first one I look in is spacious, but just as empty as the last. The next one is too. It's all so pointless I can't even come up with a reasonable explanation for why we're still looking.

I cross over to the last door on the left, one that must be a closet. It's got a key-hole instead of the usual card slot, so it must be something staff-related. I put my hand on the doorknob.

Something rustles from the inside.

I freeze.

Dammit all to hell.

I lean in a little closer, not turning the doorknob any further. The noise stopped. But I heard _something_.

Was it the Five kid, or something else?

If I go down this hall, I could be back at the Cornucopia. That's how close we are. Would he really have stayed here this whole time, this close to us? Unless he thought he had no other option. Maybe hiding and hoping was his best option.

If it _is_ him, I could leave him in there. Tell Alana I looked. He'd run, eventually.

That's not what I was taught to do in training. If you let someone go, it comes back to bite you in the ass eventually. It always does. I remember what I thought about being hunters, chasing after wounded prey. This can't be fair to him. He won't have a chance.

"Larkin?"

I turn my head. Elias is back out in the hallway, watching me. My hand is still holding onto the doorknob. He looks at my hand, watching. I see it the second the clarity finds his eyes. He knows. But he's still not moving. He's letting me make this decision. I don't know why he is.

A loud rustle comes from the other side of the door. And then the doorknob turns under my hand, not of my own volition and the door come flying out towards me.

I yelp, but I'm nowhere near quick enough to avoid the whole door coming at me. I get knocked straight to the ground. The only real glimpse I get of what just happened as I turn over is the tail end of the Five kid's coat as he hightails it around the corner. Elias swears.

Still laying on the ground, I look towards him. And then Alana comes barreling out of the doorway next to his.

It takes her a grand total of two seconds to realize what just happened, and by then she's sprinted down the hallway, jumped clear over me, and chased after him.

Not a moment later and Elias is tearing after her. Whether to help her or maybe make the kid's death a little easier, I don't know. All I know is that by the time I leap to my feet and follow them, I can't help but think one thing.

This is probably going to get messy.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

The second the sun set and the anthem started, I held my breath.

It felt like getting punched when we saw not one but two Careers. Two of the strongest people in the arena, already dead. But then the relief hit, because the next person after the two of them was the little kid from Ten. Then both of the Twelves.

Kian was still alive. Somehow. We didn't know where he was, or what happened, but he was alive.

Suddenly, that was all that mattered.

Instantly, I grabbed my pack and the machete. Larz had his mace in his hand before I even said anything. That left Mireya staring at the two of us, probably wondering if she could do anything to change our minds. But she didn't have a chance.

Now we're sitting at the top of a staircase on the eighth floor, just waiting. Kian didn't follow us up, which means he's either still down on seven or further down.

The issue, mainly, is the Careers.

Technically, we have the same numbers. Also technically, Larz is the only one who wouldn't get his ass handed to him, and that's having a ton of wishful thinking. If they're still just below us, then we have to get around them, possibly through them, grab Kian, and run.

More wishful thinking.

"If we're going to do it, we need to just go," Mireya hisses. Larz shushes her, inching closer to the staircase, listening. Mireya rolls her eyes and shoves past him without a moment of hesitation, darting down the stairs in almost silence. It _does_ make sense. She's easily the smallest of all of us. She stops at the bottom, flattening herself against the wall. She pokes her head out into the hallway, one quick look each way, and then waves us down.

Larz is the first one out in the hall. He has his mace extended in his hand, pointing in each direction he looks. The machete is an unfamiliar weight in my hand. Sure, I touched on them in training, but it never felt right. And I doubt it'll feel any more right killing someone, but I just have to keep reminding myself that this is practically nothing, in comparison to what I went through. And if it means finding Kian, saving his life ... then maybe it doesn't matter.

"Come on," Larz whispers, starting in the direction of the Cornucopia.

I follow the two of them, nervously glancing over my shoulder every two seconds. It's so _quiet_ down here. It's unnerving.

Mireya whispers something to Larz that I don't really hear. Mostly because I'm too focused on being terrified while trying not to show it. And then I do hear something, and it's definitely not her.

I lunge forward, shove my machete in my belt, and slap my hand over her mouth. She pauses, looking down at my hand, and then raises an eyebrow.

It's Larz who hears it then. He looks down the way we were heading, almost to the next corner.

Footsteps.

And they're getting a hell of a lot louder.

None of us move. There's nowhere to move to, let alone anywhere to run. Larz is the first one to step back, the slightest bit closer to us, and I step forward. Reminding myself not to be scared is harder than ever.

We've got maybe three seconds until whoever the footsteps belong to whips around the corner, and straight into us. I hold the machete out, pointing it forward.

And then Kian runs around the corner, hand clutching at his side, and nearly impales himself on it.

I nearly scream, flinging the machete to the side. He practically crashes into me and I grab him as best I can to stop him, stumbling, eyes wide. He latches onto my jacket with both hands, digging his feet to the ground. Kian takes one second to look down at me, completely and utterly terrified. When we found him, I expected relief, happiness, anything but _this_.

We all just stare at him for a moment. He's shaking, and his hand goes back to his side, and he's _hurt_ and I still don't get it until I hear more footsteps.

"We should go," he says weakly. And amazingly, that's all it takes.

Larz practically rips him away from me, half holding onto him and half carrying him, at the same second the three Careers round the corner.

"Go!" He yells. I'm not in any position to ignore him.

I lunge back toward the stairs with Mireya at my side, reaching down at the last minute to scoop my machete back up. This time, I check behind me to make sure Larz and Kian are both still there, following us. It'd be easier to focus if I couldn't see the absolutely terrifying look on Alana's face when she catches sight of not one but four of us. More victims. More numbers to add to her kill count.

I make it up the first staircase. There's no point in stopping. Up another one. Nothing but too long hallways that won't hide us well enough. Another. And then another. It's Mireya who grabs my arm, then, stopping me from going any further. She darts to two huge, metals doors just on the other side of the hall and yanks one open, watching as Larz finally makes it up the stairs, still mostly holding Kian. He nods.

The four of us end up on the other side of the doors. Larz practically passes Kian to me and he slams it shut, the sound echoing around the room. I wince.

They're going to know we're in here.

"Hide. Now. Please." Larz sounds like he's about two seconds from a heart attack. I keep a hold of Kian's arms and turn around.

It's almost pitch black, but my eyes are adjusting quick. And I saw things exactly like this in the Capitol. It's the back side of a theater. Just through the darkness I can see massive curtains on the far side of the room, cracks of light brushing against the edge of them. Where the real show takes place, but not one to hide in. It's too bright, too much open space and seats with nowhere to hide.

I watch Mireya roll herself under some sort of desk prop. She disappears into the darkness underneath it.

I grab Kian as gently as I can and pull him to the far corner of the room. There's more curtains here, hanging in thick droves against the wall, and even though I'm aware it's probably not the greatest spot to hide, I don't think Kian will be able to get up if he hides under something.

He goes behind them, pushing backwards to make room for me, just as the doors crash open.

Kian drags me towards him and pushes me to the side. The curtains swing shut, leaving the tiniest sliver for me to see out of. I can actually see where Mireya's hiding now, flattened to the ground. Larz practically flings himself into several clothing racks, ducking down in-between them with the mace in his hands. As soon as the clothes fall back into place he's gone.

There are voices from the direction of the doors. All three of them, sounds like.

The Four guy's first, followed directly by Alana. His feet stop a mere meter away from Mireya's lying. I'm barely breathing, watching as their gazes sweep around the room. The Ten girl stops just inside the doors, taking in just how big the room is.

"Hiding spots don't work forever," Alana calls. "You can run wherever you want but someone always catches up."

Kian's shaking like a leaf. Whether from the pain or the terror, I don't know. I brush my hand against his, still holding tight to the machete.

"Don't make me rip this place apart," she complains, quite loudly. "Or do you want me to drag one of you out?"

There's silence. My heart's pounding so hard in my chest I can feel it.

Alana laughs. "Fine. Have it your way. Guess I'll start with her."

Kian stops shaking all at once. Alana crouches down, right next to where Mireya's hiding. She peers under the desk and smiles.

She doesn't even get time to fully grab Mireya before Larz jumps out from his hiding spot.

Alana's hand locks around Mireya's ankle and drags her bodily out from under the desk, practically slinging her across the room. She's so fully focused on it that she doesn't even notice Larz appear, and she doesn't get time to move before the mace comes swinging down towards her. It crashes into the back of her shoulder, the spikes digging straight through her coat and into her skin. She screams, getting slammed into the ground. The Four guy leaps back, brandishing weapons in each hand - a sickle and a spear.

Mireya rises to her hands and knees but doesn't even move before the Ten girl is on her, dragging her half up and pressing a knife against her throat.

And I can't just stand here and watch it all happen anymore.

Kian doesn't even try and stop me, but follows when I exit the curtains.

From then on it's like no one wants to be the first one to move.

Larz still has Alana flattened to the ground, pressing the mace harder into her shoulder every time she moves. The Four guy is staring, but his weapons are still way too close for my liking. And then there's the issue of the Ten girl, who's knife is digging so hard into Mireya's throat there's a thin trickle of blood dripping into her shirt collar.

I finally decide to point the machete at her. For being half of a Career from Ten, she doesn't falter at the movement.

"You don't want to kill her," I say evenly. "If you don't kill her, your ally doesn't die either."

Alana cackles, actually cackles, still pinned to the ground. "Funny thing, sweetheart, they don't give a shit about me. Good try, though."

The Ten girl's eyes don't even change. She really doesn't care. But I still know she doesn't want to hurt anyone, not unless she has to.

Larz presses Alana a little harder into the ground. The Four guy watches his every moment with laser focus.

"Do it, Larkin," Alana says simply. "You know you're a Career, just like the rest of us. Remember what I said? Start acting like one."

The Ten girl - Larkin - looks from Alana to me. Mireya stares at me too, more terrified than I ever thought I'd see her. Both of her hands are locked around Larkin's wrists, like she can stop it from happening. Larkin looks at the Four guy. We only get one more second of silence.

"Do it," he repeats.

Both of her allies told her to, and I still don't think she's going to do it, still don't think it's actually happening, when she rips the knife across Mireya's throat.

I don't know who screams first; if it's me, or if it's Kian, or if it's Larz. All I know is that Kian rips the machete out of my hands and takes off with it, Alana kicks out at Larz and pulls herself away from him, and the amount of blood that spills out of Mireya's throat as she falls limply to the ground is something I never wanted to see again, not after my accident.

Kian makes it to the far wall with my weapon. I don't know what to stare at - the Ten girl and her completely blank eyes as Mireya's body slumps awkwardly across the floor, Larz's horrified expression when he realizes what just happened, or him. What I finally see is Kian slam the machete into a taut rope knotted at the wall, watch the rope race up into the darkness with nothing to hold it, and catch the last sight of it as it disappears.

There's a dangerous creak from above us. Everyone freezes. Kian stares back at me.

And then half the ceiling comes crashing down.

* * *

 **Arella Trinett, 18 years, District Seven Female**

* * *

It's too damn quiet in this place.

I thought you'd at least be able to hear the water, or maybe the engines, but that makes sense I guess. No purpose for running engines when we're stuck in one spot. But the fact remains that every little creak sets me completely on edge, especially when I have no one to blame it on.

Sinora waited until Kinnon fell asleep to sleep herself. Probably so nothing would happen between us. Smart move.

They've only been asleep for maybe 40, 45 minutes, but the little clock on the nightstand ticks itself to midnight nonetheless.

I sigh, leaning back in the chair. There may not even be a point to keep watch, not unless someone's being loud and I hear them coming. Chances are I won't. Someone will just bust open the door and I'll have maybe two more seconds than Sinora and Kinnon do to prepare for it.

12:01. There's only so long I can look out the porthole before my paranoia overtakes me and I start expecting something to pop up from the outside. 12:02. I've already bitten my nails to near non-existence. 12:03. I think I'm already going insane.

I spend another few minutes in silence with my eyes half-closed, wondering if Kinnon will kill me if she wakes up and I'm asleep. She can try.

I pull open the drawer at the desk, wondering if there's something, anything I can do to kill some time. A pen rolls to the forefront, right next to a little manual about the ship's daily activities. At the back there's a little silver camera, the technology better than anything I've ever seen. More like the stuff they have in the Capitol, but not near as fancy. I press the button at the top and the screen flickers to life.

There's a video. Dated January 7th, 2018. Well, that's creepy. I press the play button anyway, making sure to keep the volume at the minimal.

There's a girl. Maybe late 20's, holding the camera out in front of her face. She's smiling widely, sunglasses perched carefully on her nose.

"Leaving from Southampton today!" she shouts excitedly. A guy appears from the background and wraps an arm around her waist, leaning around her to peck her on the cheek. "Can you believe it, babe? World cruise, here we come!"

Well, ain't that peachy for them. Still don't know why it's in here, or how it's supposed to help me in any way.

I keep scrolling through the videos. The next one shows the same girl holding the camera out, showing off the ship she's on. Identical to the one we're on, from what I've seen.

The thing is, there's tons of them. One where she's skipping on a beach with the setting sun in the background, laughing about something the guy says behind the camera. Another where they're walking through massive fields of coffee bean plants. There are pictures too. One out of the back of a car with a massive red bridge in the background. The girl lounging on a pool chair, a fancy cocktail in one hand and a thumbs up on the other. So many of just the ocean, the endless expanse that I was already aware of before I had to stare at almost a hundred pictures of it.

There's one more picture of the ship, docked at a sizable island, followed by a video. It's of the guy this time, obnoxiously shirtless and lounging in bed. I stop for a second to look back at the bed where Kinnon and Sinora are sleeping, the porthole behind it. It's the _exact_ same. Jesus christ.

"The engine's are broken," he laughs. "Wonder what broken's code for, hey babe?"

The girl laughs off camera, and then a pillow smacks into his side. "They're broken. Just what they said. They said it'll be all better in the morning so shut up."

"For now looks like we're stuck in the middle of the Pacific. Check in with you tomorrow."

The video ends. For whatever reason, there's a pit in my stomach the size of a crater. Maybe it's the impending feeling of doom or whatever that won't go away the further I look into these.

I click on the next video anyway, because there's no way I can't, not now.

Still in the room. The girl has the camera, this time. She's sitting right next to the porthole, staring off camera and talking.

"Still stuck here. So much for getting to Samoa in three days, am I right? So this will make the _second_ night we're going to sleep just sitting here in the middle of the ocean."

She smiles, probably to whatever the guy just yelled off-camera.

I tap my fingers on the desk. Something's gotta give here in this.

The girl on the screen freezes. I snap up a bit, paying more attention. She rises to her feet. This time I hear it. A very clear, distinct scream, coming fuzzy out of the camera's speakers. The girl turns the camera around, no doubt clutching it against her chest, and points it towards the cabin door. The guy comes out of the bathroom. They both stare in silence at the closed door. There's another scream. And then several, all at once, and frighteningly close to where they seem to be.

"What was that?" She whispers. The guy shakes his head, fingers closing around the door handle.

All at once, the door comes flying in off it's hinges. All I see is the guy go careening to the ground, hear the girl scream before the camera leaves her hands and lands with a thud on the floor, tilted on it's side. There's something like screeching, horrifically loud. Gurgling. One more scream, and then a splatter of blood, all across the camera lens. And even though I can barely make it out, I see the girl's limp form laying two feet from the camera, throat completely ripped open, before _something_ pulls her off-screen.

"Arella?"

I flinch, but I can't take my eyes off of the damn camera, eyes glued to the screen like something will change. Eventually, the screen goes black. The video stops. The battery probably died. Except it's fine now.

"Arella?" Sinora repeats. She's sitting up in the bed now, rubbing her eyes, but she's staring at me. Waiting for a response. One that she doesn't get.

I re-start the video. Back to the girl, smiling, sitting in bed. That's what she said. The second night. Sinora finally gets up, confused, and comes to stand by my shoulder. I keep letting it play, noting how she goes from relaxed and sleep heavy to completely tense at my shoulder. The door bursts in again. More of that inhuman, deathly screeching.

A part of me wants to stop the video. There's no point in her seeing it. She'd believe me without laying her own eyes on it, she'd trust me to tell the truth. And I don't want her to see it, because I have a feeling I'm never going to be able to rid the image from my mind, and she doesn't deserve that too.

I let it go until the end. Until the blood splatters across the screen and the girl's body gets dragged out of the room once again. Sinora stares in silence as the video stops, as I lay the camera back on the desk.

"What the fuck was that?" She whispers. I look at her, briefly, before turning my gaze to the door. The door that's now perfectly in place, pristine, like nothing ever happened.

It's either one hell of a trick, or it's a warning. One that we're supposed to listen to.

"I think we're going to find out."

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I've spent about an hour hiding behind a desk that belongs to some sort of sports equipment store on the mostly open fifteenth floor, trying not not to have a panic attack.

The hiding's worked so far. The panic attack? Not so much.

The thing is, I knew about Siung. I saw it happen, watched him get practically catapulted right off the side of the ship. I knew there was no surviving that, especially not after the knife in the throat. I also saw Oxen slide to a halt right in front of Alana, letting her snap his neck so that I had an extra second to run away. But when Viscaria ran, when I saw her get out, there was hope in me for a second.

It ended, when I saw the recap. When instead of ending at Siung's face in the sky it went to hers too.

I don't know what could've _happened_. All I know is that it just doesn't make sense.

There's a lot of other things that don't make sense as well, but the only other one I can really focus on right now is why anyone in their right mind thought it was appropriate to put a sports equipment store on a _boat_. I mean, a baseball bat might be as useless in the middle of the water as useless can get, but I also feel infinitely better with it clutched in my hand even though I know the chances of me smashing someone's head in with it are next to none.

I think I'm alone up here, anyway. Think being the operative word here. I thought a lot of things, before the bloodbath, and almost none of them are going to happen.

Which means there probably _is_ someone up here.

Great. Now even my brain's turning against me.

I grab the top of the desk and peer over it. Nothing. It's really dark up here. Sure, there's all these floodlights spread out across the deck, but beyond that you can't see anything. You can't even see where the sky ends and where the water begins, that's how inky black it is.

I lean back, pulling two bottles of water out of the mini-fridge across from me, and shove them in my bag. Not like there's a shortage of it anyway, more won't be hard to find. What I do need to find is food, because I'm pretty sure sustaining myself off the ice cream machine next to the pool in front of me isn't the way to go.

Finally, I leave the safety of the desk, the baseball bat clutched in my hand. Hopefully if anyone is up here I'll be able to knock them out and book it before something worse happens. For some reason, the idea's not too reassuring. I start making my way to the other end of the ship, the opposite direction I came from. The only thing back the way I came is a whole bunch more pools, lined with little rows of bars. Not much useful. I pass a fluorescent green mini-golf course and a little self-contained tennis court - that at least explains some of the sports equipment.

The last thing on this deck is an expansive, glass-walled area. Like a greenhouse, or a solarium. There are even trees in there, but they look overly fake, complete with plastic palm fronds and everything.

I poke my head in the door. It's even darker in here than the rest of the floor; the floodlights outside only just barely manage to breach through the glass.

It still doesn't stop me from seeing the body in the pool.

I suck in a breath, instantly darting back outside and flattening myself against the outer glass wall. The other cannon, the one after the anthem, was maybe 20 minutes ago. I sure didn't hear anything happening up here, not anything loud enough to be a fight.

Which means ... which means that's Viscaria in there.

I'm shaking again. I squeeze my eyes shut. Every instinct in me is screaming to run, that I'm still in danger.

Then why am I not moving?

Because she was my friend. Because for someone so tiny, because for someone who looked like she'd never faced hardship in her life, she sure didn't act like any of that fazed her.

There's also the extraordinarily important fact that I don't think I have the heart to run from her. Not like she did to me.

I creep back into the solarium, holding the bat a little bit tighter. This place is huge, there could be anyone in here. I wouldn't even know it.

I wish I was a coward. I wish I would've just run away.

Viscaria's body is face-down in the pool, resting just against the side, like she's been there for hours. I don't even remember when I heard the cannon. The water is completely still, now, without any of the jets running. The worst part is the complete lack of blood. I thought once I knew how it happened, I'd leave. But it takes me longer than I wanted it to, staring at her body, before I recognize a broken neck for what it is.

Just like Oxen.

"Glenn?"

Instead of doing anything useful, like turning around with purpose and swinging the bat, I practically shriek, spinning way too fast on my heels, and end up sprawled across the ground. At Abel's feet.

"Fuck's sake," I mutter, leaning my forehead against the ground. I'm clutching the bat against my chest, like it's a shield. Apparently that's all it's going to be good for, considering I apparently don't have it in me to hit anyone with it unless it's life or death. I don't think Abel will hurt me, though. He might be one of the only people in here who wouldn't, given the opportunity.

Abel's still just standing there, perfectly silent, when I finally look up at him.

Now, I like to think that I'm decently smart. At least my teachers thought so. So when the idea first occurs to me, that maybe it's not coincidence that Viscaria and Abel are in the same place, I chase the idea way. Because it's not true. There's no way it's true. He didn't kill her.

It's when I look up at him that I know he did.

The worst part is, I can't stop the absolute terror that must cross my face, because Abel instantly backs off, hands help up in the air. No, the worst part is how absolutely far gone he already looks, like he hasn't slept in days even though I know it's not true. He looks like he's been crying, same as me, but I don't have to look in the mirror to know that he looks about ten times more haunted than I can imagine feeling.

"Please tell me you didn't," I whisper.

His voice comes out in broken cracks that barely make sense. "I— I didn't mean to, I swear. She just, she attacked me and I didn't know what to do, I just, I just pushed her and I didn't even realize she was fucking dead until the cannon went off. And I didn't— I didn't know what to do, and I—"

Just like that, there are tears in his eyes. As if he didn't already look like he hated himself enough. It takes me a second to realize that I'm already crying. Frantically, I scrub at the tears on my face, but somehow I already have the image in my head, and it doesn't even surprise me. There's a knife in the bottom of the pool, like it fell out of her grasp. She attacked him. Probably tried to kill him. All he did was the same thing back, but without even meaning to.

"I'm sorry," Abel whispers. "I didn't— I'm so fucking sorry."

Before I even really register what's happening, he's backing up even further. He disappears into the shadows in the far corner, returning only a second later with a backpack over his shoulder, and then he turns towards the door.

"Wait," I force out. "Abel, don't."

To my surprise, he actually stops. Not that he turns around to look at me, but it's something.

"Please don't leave."

It's funny, how I wondered so hard about who killed her, until I found out it was him. Until I found it was just another thing he was forced to do, because maybe he wants to live more than even he knows. I thought I would hate whoever did it.

And I can't hate him. Because right now, he's all I have left.

"I'm coming with you," I tell him, firmly, because I figured he'd argue against it. Abel finally does turn around, staring me straight in the eye for the first time since I've seen him. No argument starts, like I expect it to. He just stares at me, hollow-eyed, and I stare back, trying to convey everything I can into one look.

 _I don't blame you. I know you're sorry. And no, you don't get a choice about me coming with you._

All he does is stare at me a moment longer.

"Okay," he says wearily.

I wish I could smile. I wish it felt _right_ to smile.

I don't think it's going to feel that way ever again.

* * *

 **Magne Cohen, 17 years, District Eleven Male**

* * *

"Ow," I mutter, a little too loudly.

My leg had been wrapped up as bad as best as Rover could apparently manage with the supplies we had, but it wasn't all that great. That was until we found the infirmary, on one of the bottom floors. The door _had_ been locked, until Erna had practically kicked it down.

As if I wasn't terrified of her kicking my ass as is. Not that she knows that, of course.

Now that we've got supplies, it might be a bit easier to stop me from bleeding everywhere. Rover stops, when I finally complain about him unwrapping the bandage. I can already see the blood, and it's not a pretty slight. There's also a lot more of it than I thought, but that might be because we haven't done anything to stop it.

I don't know. I'm not a doctor.

Erna finishes rummaging around in the cupboards just as Rover finally gets the rather messy bandage off my leg. The wound isn't big, but it's pretty damn deep, and I don't have any interest in staring into it any longer than I have to.

She tosses Rover a little bundle of thread and then drops a needle into his hand. That's when I panic.

"Absolutely fucking not," I exclaim. "Are you insane?"

"What did you think we were going to do?" She questions. "Just leave it? Unless you want to die, or unless you want me to leave you because you can't walk, I suggest you shut up."

I think she's being just a tad extreme. Death doesn't seem like an option because of a little stab wound. Rover's looking at me with an awful amount of concern, though, so maybe I should be worried. Nevermind that, Rover _always_ looks concerned in some form or other. It's really not all that surprising to see at this point, if I'm being honest here.

"Just do it," Erna snaps at Rover. He doesn't even flinch.

"I'm going to cry," I complain, rather loudly. Erna rolls her eyes.

"Well, I'm certainly not holding your hand, and Rover's the one doing the stitching. Suck it up."

Rover must be doing a decent job at tuning us out, because he's already got the needle threaded and is just staring at me. Waiting. He must be pretty good at this, because I doubt Erna would be letting him do it otherwise. I think he said something about working in a hospital, but I wasn't really paying attention to that particular conversation in training, mostly because Erna and her 5'4 frame of angry pitbull was too busy trying to set me on fire with her eyes.

"Okay," I whine. "You can do it."

It hurts. Why didn't we think of pain-killers, before we started this process? There have to be some around here. I can feel every pull of the needle through my skin, every time Rover moves even the slightest bit. Fuck my life.

I'm not going to let myself cry, though. Even though I want to. Like really want to. Erna's watching me attentively, waiting for a reaction. I just lock my hands around the edge of the chair, watch my knuckles go white around the plastic.

How long does stitching someone up usually take?

Finally, I hear the little snip of scissors against the thread and one of Rover's hands disappear for a second. I chance a look down. There's a neat line of thread all through where the wound had been, and there's no more blood from what I can tell. Huh. What do you know.

"That's actually impressive," Erna comments, looking over Rover's shoulder. "Good job, Doc."

Rover lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, looking so immensely happy and proud for a second it's actually startling. Erna takes notice too, and actually honest to god smiles back at him, something I didn't even think she was capable of doing unless she glared immediately after. Immediately I note that thing is going to be a problem. Of course he's more attached to her than me, he's known her longer, even though I've probably been nicer.

I want to get rid of Erna, because all I'm going to be able to do until that happens is pushed around and thrown to the wolves if they start chasing us. That's if she doesn't kill me first. I wonder if Rover would try to stop her, if she did. Maybe. Maybe not.

"Thanks," I mumble. Rover looks at me and nods; keeps smiling. He looks almost immediately back to Erna afterward.

Maybe not is more probable, then.

Currently, my only options are leave, which I can't do like this, remain at the bottom of this weird ass totem pole, which won't last forever, or kill her and hope Rover will still stay with me.

I sigh.

Looks like I might be getting bloody against soon. At least the next time I can take a shower.

* * *

*insert cackling gif because I'm an asshole*

Sorry about the super long POVs, if anyone dislikes those. Lots happened in this one. Lots is going to happen too but you probably know that already. This isn't the only time something's going to get away from me in terms of length, probably, so get used to it.

Also, did like, 90% of you die last chapter, or is everyone just super busy? Either way I love you all pls come back.

Until next time.


	20. Flaw In The Plan

Arena, Day Two.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

The first thought I have after waking up revolves around the fact that I don't remember falling asleep.

The others come in this order: that's probably because I was knocked out, Mireya's dead and I couldn't do anything to stop it, and Kian had the bright idea that bringing the ceiling down was the solution to our current problem.

I still haven't decided if he was right.

I have no idea how I'm not dead. The last glimpse I got before we were practically buried alive was about half of the support beams and metal plates and curtains crashing down from the ceiling. They must've been at leastpartly stopped by the rest of the stuff in the room from crushing us, which is nice.

I try to move and wince, touching the back of my head. There's a decent amount of blood. Maybe that's why I feel so out of it, I probably have a concussion from getting knocked to the ground. There's no one else around me, just beams and dust swirling. Alana must've rolled at least a bit away from me before it happened. I don't know about the other two. Kian was probably far enough away to avoid the worst of it, but Kole wasn't. Mireya ... I didn't even see it happen. But she's under here too, right? Or at least her body is.

Getting out is the priority, which would be easier if I even knew which way was up, or if I could even see. I can stretch my arm just a little in each direction before hitting something, whether it's broken furniture or parts of the ceiling. I don't know what I'll do if I hit _someone_. Hopefully I won't.

At least there is enough space to move. I've got a little room to move around. Hesitantly, I sit up as far as I can go, still wincing at the pain in my head. I push at the beam above my head. A puff of dust swirls into the air and the beam creaks dangerously, tilting a little bit closer. So that's a no go.

I shuffle a bit to the left. It's a little bit lighter in this direction, like there's a faint crack of outside light managing to get in. I just have to find it.

I move a few curtains and chunks of plaster out of the way, shoving them to the side. I make sure to grab my mace before it gets buried as well, squinting up. There's the source of light, maybe the size of a finger. Hesitantly, I push my hand up towards it, sincerely hoping that if someone got out, it isn't one of the people who plan on killing me. I finally manage to wedge my hand out, shoving at the beams again. The space gets a little bigger. I can almost get my arm out now.

Someone's hand locks around my wrist.

"Jesus fucking—"

"Hey! It's me!"

I still my hand, which I almost had retreated fully into the hole, hell-bent on bringing the other person down with me if that's what it meant. Kian peers down through the gap at me, eyes wide. I let out a massive breath. He's okay, at least. That means this wasn't nothing. Mireya wasn't for nothing.

By the time I look up again, Kole's appeared by Kian's side. She's covered in a thick layer of what looks like plaster dust, powdered white and with a heavy scrape on her cheek, but otherwise fine. She looks unbelievably relieved.

"Back it up down there."

I scoot backwards as far as I can, until my back is pressed up against some of the wreckage. Almost immediately I hear the sound of stomping, and a few pieces come tumbling down into my little spot. It only takes a few more seconds of Kole kicking down at the mess before there's a hole big enough to crawl out of. I reach up, grasping the edges of a wooden beam, and Kole grabs my hand, hauling me up the last bit. The second I even fully stand up a wave of dizziness washes over me, no doubt from the probable concussion. Kole keeps a hold on me until I get my balance, wavering on top of the mess we're standing on. And now that I'm up here, it really _is_ a mess. From what I can see through the gloominess it looks like there was one central beam holding most of the ceiling up - a beam that was conveniently one second away from disaster. Purposeful design flaw. Just like half of the things in here probably are.

Kian notices me staring upwards, following my gaze. "Sorry," he mutters. "I panicked."

I don't even know how he's still standing, let alone how he got across the room to do it. I want to be upset. But chances are he probably just saved our asses. I'm just too tired too even think about thanking him.

Speaking of getting our asses kicked, there are no signs of the three Careers. They're probably still buried. Kianhad the frame of mind to find us and get out. They didn't have the chance to.

"We're there any cannons?" I ask, as steadily as possible. It's still nowhere near what I wanted to sound like.

Both of them look at me, silently for a moment, like they won't say it. Like if they don't tell me it won't really confirm it. It wasn't a secret - Mireya didn't think coming after Kian was worth the risk, in the long run. And I was angry at her for it. It's like she could see what was about to happen before it really did. She knew something bad would happen.

"Just Mireya's," Kole finally says, very quietly. I press my lips together, nodding. Kian looks so guilty he's almost hard to look at, but he's staring in the opposite direction, right at the completely limp arm that's just poking out of the rubble. I don't have to be a genius to know who it belongs to. It would just be easier if I could pretend it wasn't Mireya, that it didn't happen, that we just had to search for her and get her out. But we can't.

"We should go," Kian declares, echoing his words from earlier, before everything got destroyed. He's still staring at what little of her body we can see.

He waves a little on his feet when Kole nudges him, albeit gently. Whether it's from the broken ribs or what he thinks he's responsible for, I don't know.

All I know is that the feeling's entirely mutual. If it was Kian's fault, then it was mine too.

Mireya almost reminded me of Iridium. Both too head-strong for their own good, too spirited, willing to do what had to be done. And maybe we disagreed on some things, didn't feel like we belonged in others, but we were always their for each other. And both of them died and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

Maybe this moment has just reaffirmed that people like them aren't supposed to survive.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

"We need to come up with a plan," Kinnon decides.

Both Arella and I stare at her silently. It was a unanimous decision, showing her the videos Arella found, even though I know in any other circumstance it wouldn't have worked out that easily. Not showing her would have only caused more problems in the long run.

"A plan would be easier to come up with if we know what we were up against," I point out.

And we really don't. All we know is that there's a strong chance _something's_ coming, something that's strong enough to break down doors and rip out people's throats in a matter of seconds. The only leg up we have is that we know, and our advantages end there.

"What I know," Arella says simply. "Is that we should probably move. If whatever it was broke down that door, it's going to do it again, and sitting here won't do us any favors."

The three of us look around, silently. One by one, we all nod. It's practically a miracle. Even Kinnon seems the slightest bit subdued. She still has the camera clutched tight in her hands, replaying it occasionally like we were the night before. Like it would change something. So far, it hasn't.

I grab my bag. There wasn't much in it to begin with but we raided the mini-fridge, finding enough drinks to last us a lifetime and even a few snacks. I'm pretty sure not one of us has the frame of mind to really worry about food now anyway, because of what's looming tonight. We'll cross that bridge if we survive until the morning.

I never thought I'd hate the night-time so damn much, and it's not even here yet.

Finally, we're all ready to leave. Kinnon's got her backpack on, the spear in one and the camera in other. Without even asking, she steps forward and hands the camera to Arella, who looks surprised. Maybe it's because Arellahas nothing but a machete to her name, or maybe it's Kinnon finally stepping back and realizing that this won't work unless we do.

"Alright," Kinnon states, smiling brightly, like she hasn't a care in the world. It's almost infectious. "Let's go, then!"

We had a desire to leave, but we don't go far. We stop at the end of the hallway, Kinnon looking down at the map and directory stuck on the wall next to the elevator. For all we know, there's no places in here that are going to be safe. Better to look than to sit here and wait to get killed, though.

I don't even notice Arella looking at the directory over my shoulder until she takes a few paces back, continuing down the opposite end of the hall. The passenger rooms end at this junction and open up into a spacious, high-ceiling room. There's even a chandelier in hanging in the middle, illuminating the massive twisting staircase along the left wall. It really is pretty. If only it wasn't terrifying at the same time.

I wait until Arella opens two doors just around the edge of the staircase to go after her. She spends a long moment peering in.

"Is that a fucking ice rink? Are you kidding me?"

A small smile actually comes across my face at that. With everything else that could be in here, it's amazing that an ice rink is all it takes for Arella to be amazed. To be fair, it's nothing like what we're used to seeing.

Kinnon makes it to Arella's side first, peeking around her shoulder.

"Well, at least we know it's here," Kinnon announces.

"Good hiding place for later?" I question. Neither of them turn to look at me, still staring through the doors.

"Maybe," Arella shrugs. "There's a balcony level, too. That's probably where the stairs go."

I think all of us have against, silently agreed that we should keep looking, at least for now. It's dark enough in the upper level balconies that we could hide, but we still have hours of daylight left to look. With our luck there's a barricaded, secret room just waiting for people to use it and we wouldn't see it because we're looking elsewhere. Those hours of daylight also leave an insane amount of time to stumble upon someone, but I think right now we could take whoever it was. We're working together, towards something, without fighting.

For all we know, we have the greatest chances of surviving tonight than anyone.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

We still haven't left the infirmary.

I like it here. It reminds me of the hospital back in Eight, and when I think about that all I hope is that Marcos is proud of me, that Morris is treating his grandfather better in my absence. I just hope they're doing alright, that me leaving didn't affect them too much. The look on Marcos face; one of horror, shock, sadness when he had come to see me at the Goodbyes appeared behind my closed eyelids the whole first night I tried to sleep on the train.

He has to know why he did it. I hope he sees it now.

It's late in the afternoon but Magne's still asleep, curled into a little ball on the examination table. He spent most of the night worrying at his leg, even though it's shown no signs of bleeding since I stitched it up. Finally, after me pestering him to no end, he fell asleep, not looking all too happy about the arrangement.

Erna's also half-asleep, or maybe fully now since I stopped talking to her. She had been waiting for Magne to wake up so we could move but I think she's given up. Now she's reclining in one of the several plastic chairs in the room, feet propped up onto the edge of mine, with her jacket sleeve over her eyes to block out the meager amount of sunlight filtering in through the window.

I didn't sleep much last night either, so maybe it's okay to now. Erna said it was. She propped up one of the chairs under the door handle, anyway, so it's not like there's anything to watch.

If she said it's okay, I believe that.

I close my eyes, leaning back in the chair, almost mirroring Erna's position. I don't know if I'll be able to.

I'm very decidedly not sleeping, about ten minutes later, when Magne wakes up. I only know he's moving because of the crackle of the paper on the infirmary table that he didn't think to take off before he fell asleep.

"Hey, Rove."

I crack open an eye. Magne's sitting at the edge of the table, watching me, his hair sticking up in every direction. I'm almost expecting him to make a disgruntled comment about it, about how he's not used to the state of disarray he's in.

"Yeah?"

"You know she's gonna kill me, right?"

I freeze. "She wouldn't. Erna wouldn't."

Magne actually cracks a smile. "You actually believe that, don't you? She's going to kill me, eventually, when she decides it's not moving fast enough. She'll kill you too. I just want you to get that."

There's not a single part of me that thinks Erna will hurt me. I know it might come to that, eventually, that everyone has to hurt at some or other, but I'd rather hurt than her. She won't kill Magne. She won't hurt him either. Not unless she has to.

"She's not going to. Why are you—"

Magne hops off the table, a lot faster than I thought he would have. He still hisses, holding his injured leg a little lighter against the ground, but we wobbles towards me all the same. For an irrational moment, I think he's going to hurt me. He's got such a look of determination in his eyes, despite the pain, and he's walking with an awful lot of purpose. My hands are shaking in my lap.

He doesn't reach for me. He grabs my backpack, abandoned at the foot of the chair, and pulls the tiny knife in the side pocket out.

"Magne, _Magne_ , w-what are you, what are you doing?"

In one swift moment he's got the knife grasped firmly in his hand. He's still wobbling, but he crosses over to Erna's sleeping form. That's when I truly panic, for the first time, because I can see what he's going to do perfectly in my head and he's going to kill her. All because he has the thought that she'll do it if he doesn't.

I lunge up, dead set on grabbing him, tackling him, whatever I have to do to get him to calm down and stop, when Erna's hand grabs his arm.

All of us stop, half-frozen in motion. My arm is still outstretched to grab Magne. His knife, halfway towards Erna's throat, is now hovering dangerously in mid-air, stopped only by the sheer force her arm must have on his wrist.

"Nice try," she comments, like there isn't a knife positioned just in front of her face. "You're committed, I'll give you that."

Magne, who had look completely confident just seconds ago, now looks terrified. And then Erna punches him in the face.

Magne crumples to the ground like he's been shot instead of punched. It's then that I notice the ragged, bloody tears in his cheek and on the bridge of his nose, the brass knuckles on Erna's other hand. I knew she took them out of my bag but I didn't know she had held them this closely since. She shakes her fist out, apparently not having ever been sleeping, and stand's up. Magne's still on the floor in front of her, on his hands and knees. He spits a wad of blood onto the floor.

" _Bitch_ ," he hisses. "Just had to go for the face, didn't you?"

"Considering it's the part of you that's apparently most important, obviously," Erna says casually. She picks up her sword. I panic again, moving forward to grab at her arms, albeit as frantically as possible.

"O-okay, Erna, please don't, he wasn't going to—"

"Wasn't going to what?" She almost snaps at me. "Kill me? Because from what I heard, that's exactly what was going to happen."

He was. He was, but I was going to stop him, make him sit down, think rationally. Erna could have actually been asleep, and then we could've gone back to the way it was before. She never would have known.

I don't think we're going to get that lucky now.

"Rover," Erna starts. "You're going to let go of my arm, and either I'm going to kill him or he's going to kill me, and you don't have to be involved. So let go."

Slowly, very hesitantly, I release my fingers. Erna continues staring at me for a long moment, looking almost surprised that I did it so easily. She glances at Magne, who's backed up across the room several feet, still on the ground. He has the knife back in his hand again.

"You're actually going to do this fairly? Magne asks her disbelievingly. "Give me a chance?"

"I never do anything fairly," she spits.

He only just manages to dodge the first kick she aims, directly at his face again, but he isn't quick enough to dodge the next one. Her foot slams directly into his chest and he goes sprawling onto his back. I know there's no chance in hell that Magne will get anywhere against her, not like this.

Magne backs up even further, back almost pressed entirely against the door. His entire mouth is bloody when he smiles up at her, and I don't get how he's smiling right now, not when I'm about to watch him die.

His hand locks around the chair leg, the one that's holding the door shut. He yanks what little bit of it that's wedged under the handle away and sends it half-skidding and half-flying towards Erna. It wasn't even close to a good throw, not with his leverage, but there was also nowhere to go in such a small room. Erna has no choice but to back up, that or be smacked in the middle with a _chair._ That leaves enough time for Magne to haul himself up to his feet, using the wall as a crutch.

So that's when I decide to step in-between them.

Erna looks eerily calm, looking at me like I'm barely there. I'm not facing Magne, but he's stopped. At least for now.

"This doesn't need to happen," I breathe, trying to keep my voice as steady as Erna looks. " _Please_."

For a second, it's like something in her eyes change. Like maybe she's considering it. She looks from Magne to me, and in a split second that's when Magne goes crashing around my shoulder, headed straight for her, still holdingonto that stupid knife like his life depends on it. Maybe it does.

I get a hand on his shoulder as he darts past me, almost managing to snag the tail end of his coat. What I don't expect is him to turn on me instead, realizing that I'm apparently going to be a problem as long as this continues, and before I know it his knife's at my throat, pressing harder than I ever expected into my skin, and all I can think of is _pain pain pain this isn't happening he isn't doing this he's just panicking this can still stop_.

I squeeze my eyes shut, dead-set on trying to will this situation to stop, just as blood goes splattering over my face.

The pressure against my throat disappears; Magne's white knuckle grip on my collar is gone, all of a sudden.

If I don't look, maybe it'll reverse itself. Maybe it won't have happened.

I open my eyes.

Erna's sword is a neat inch and a half from my eye, and that's because the end of it has broken free from the center of Magne's face. Erna put it right in the back of his head, with all the force she had, and it was enough to go all the way through. Now I'm staring straight at the ruined mess that is his face, completely frozen with my shoulders barely brushing against the wall.

I can't help my close my eyes again as Erna rips the sword out, but I can still hear it; hear the thick squelching of the blood in his head, hear more of it splatter against the ground. As soon as she pulls it out he falls straight to the ground at my feet, but I still can't make myself look.

It takes a moment to realize that my eyes are burning so bad because I'm crying, and I can't stop, and I can't stop myself from sliding to the ground next to his body either. A hand presses against the gash in my neck and I know it's Erna but I still can't stop the sob that rises out of my throat.

"Look at me. Hey, look at me."

Her voice is unbelievably soft, softer than I've ever heard her speak. I shake my head frantically, and her hand presses tighter against my skin in response.

"It's okay. You're okay."

I should be okay. But he's dead and he just attacked me and maybe that would have happened anyway, if I hadn't interfered. I didn't kill him and I didn't watch it happen but it still feels like it's my fault, like I should'vestopped it.

I don't know what else to do besides cling to Erna and eventually I settle for burying my head against her shoulder. She goes very still, and I know she's not used to this, but I can't just sit here and act like everything's fine, even if she says it is. I feel more than hear her sigh and then her hand comes up to hold the back of my head there. I can feel the tenseness in her body, the awkward just of her arm keeping me there, but she's still trying. She's still here.

That's more than I've been able to say about most things.

"You're gonna be okay," Erna whispers. "Everything is."

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

By the time I manage to pull myself out of the rubble, find Larkin, and get her out, it feels like hours later.

It could be, for all I know. It's probably almost morning now. All I know is that if I let go of Larkin, she's probably going to run out of energy and just sit down, and I have no idea where Alana is.

Knowing my luck, she's still alive. It'd be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn't.

I should probably look for her too. If we leave her under there, she's going to be pissed.

Very carefully, I let go of Larkin's arm. She looks dazed and before than a little gone beyond the eyes, but I'm attributing it more to the shock of the situation than the fact that she just killed someone. She's focusing more on the blood dried between her fingers than I thought she would, but I guess it's different for everyone.

I've been training for this since I was eleven. Maybe it's harder for people who haven't been preparing themselves for it that long. Maybe it's just because we were meant to be Careers and kids from Ten aren't.

"Start over there," I say, pointing to a section of the floor that's significantly less demolished than the rest. The last thing I need right now is to have to dig her out again, and I don't know if I trust Larkin to be particularly careful about where she's stepping right about now.

It takes me a while to find any remote sign of life. What doesn't take me a while to find out is that the others are gone, except for their dead ally. Enough of the rubble is moved that you can tell someone crawled out of it, and they wouldn't have left each other, by the looks of it.

"Elias."

I turn back to Larkin. She's scrambled her way up what looks like a miniature hill and is currently yanking at a metal beam twice her size. I cross my way over to her, wincing at the way everything is creaking underneath me, and grab the end of it. Between the two of us it only takes a few seconds to dislodge it and send it towards the floor, where it lands with a massive thud.

"Took you fuckers long enough."

I look down into the hole that's left behind. Sure enough, Alana's crouched down in there, blood running across her shoulder and down her arm from the holes across her back. Apparently letting the Three kid get out of the bloodbath with a mace was a mistake.

"Nice to see you too," I mutter under my breath, kicking up a cloud of dust when I dislodge another plank. That leaves enough room for Alana to get leverage on the pile and yank herself up. She has her arm pressed close against her side, so it must hurt more than she'd let on, and it only becomes more clear when she actually lets me grab a hold of her to pull her up the rest of the way.

She pulls her arm out of my hold quick enough, but she just sits there for a moment, staring.

"You're welcome," I offer. "Now get off this mess before it collapses underneath us."

I half slide down the hill until my feet are finally safe on the smooth concrete floor. It feels a lot better when everything isn't shifting underneath me.

By the time Alana gets to the bottom she looks even more annoyed than usual. Maybe it's because she's hurt and even she can't ignore it anymore, or maybe it's because she has to know by now that she just missed an opportunity to kill someone yet again.

Probably both. She's got rage about a lot of things just waiting to be let loose.

"They'll be hiding by now. Other people will be easier to find," Alana decides. Like it's up to her what we do.

"You don't get to decide that. You're in no condition to do anything," I point out. "And we don't need to repeat just what happened."

Larkin looks at me over her shoulder, something grateful in her eyes. She nods, checking the knives in her belt, and starts for the door. Alana watches her go.

"It'll be good for her, you know. Killing someone. She needed to."

"You don't get to decide that either."

At first, when I start after Larkin. Alana doesn't move, like she thinks if she digs her heel in she'll get her way.

"So, where do you plan on taking us next?" She calls after me. I stop at the door, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Right the hell to sleep."

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

I wake up to a uniform, horribly annoying thudding in the hallway outside.

We're still in the lounge, sleeping in various chairs and small couches, and I'm half-blinded by the brilliance of the sunrise pouring in the windows the second I open my eyes. The thudding continues.

"Kal's out there being a shithead," Seren grumbles from where her face is pissed into a pillow. She lifts her head up for a moment, squints at the light, and then returns her face to her hiding spot.

"What's he doing, exactly?" I question.

"I just said. Being a shithead."

"And you left him out there alone?"

"If anything happened, he'd scream loud enough to wake the whole ship. Not like I was asleep anyway."

I think about that for a moment. "Fair enough."

"Your turn to check on him," she says, looking up with a cheery smile. "I already did it, and so did Meritt."

Judging by the fact that Meritt's out cold and half-burrowed into his coat, I'm severely doubting that, but it's not like I'm going to be able to sleep anymore anyway. I stand up, unfolding myself from the chair, and start for the door, peering out into the hallway.

The thudding is most definitely coming from Kal, who is fighting and losing a battle with the industrial metal door at the end of the hall. He's kicking it, mostly, and then shoving at it, but from what I can tell is getting approximately nowhere.

"Is there not a better way to do that?" I ask, walking up behind him. He stops for a moment, looking at me over his shoulder, and then hits the door again.

"Throwing you at it, maybe. You're bigger than me."

"Not happening. You do realize that says restricted access, right?"

"Precisely why I want to get in," Kal explains. "Locked up shit's always good."

 _Or bad_ , I can't help but think, but more power to him for being curious. If it is restricted access then, there has to be a key-card somewhere to get us in. Probably back in the lounge; they wouldn't make us look _that_ hard for it. At least I hope.

I start dragging him back from the door, ignoring whatever he's grumbling under his breath. "We'll go look for the key, and then we'll get it. Stop injuring yourself."

"I'm not that fragile," Kal complains, perfect timing, as I shove him back into the lounge.

"Yes you are," Seren comments idly. Meritt, now apparently awake, does a terrible job at hiding his amused expression in the couch. Kal stops and stares at both of them.

"You're both terrible," Kal counters, ducking behind the bar. He starts moving things behind it, obviously still looking for the card. I think he's still a little unsettled about yesterday. I can't even imagine what he'd act like if he actually killed someone. Scratch that, I can't even see him doing it at all. Him stabbing the Eleven kid was a fluke, no doubt about it, one fueled entirely by how terrified he was of dying, in that moment.

Now that the adrenaline's gone, it's like he's finally hesitating. It took the Games to make him get to that point.

I guess I'm kind of the same. I wasn't a fan of Cerise. Hate's probably not a strong enough word for how I felt about her. But at the same time, she didn't deserve it, because no one really does. It was just her or Seren, her or me. I guess I just have to learn to live with it.

"Oh, this has to be it," Kal announces, pulling a metal safe out of one of the back cupboards. He drops it on top of the counter, examining it.

"You think?" I question, looking at it myself. It's nothing special. But he's probably got a point. If they were going to hide it anywhere, it wouldn't just be in plain sight. We've basically combed through the rest of this place anyway.

"Gotta be," he decides. "So. Which one of you assholes is going to get it open?"

Meritt points to Seren, who points back to me without hesitation.

Fine.

* * *

A friend of mine wants everyone to know that I "Karl Tanner'd" Magne. Because that's what he's calling it. I'm sorry for people who don't watch Game of Thrones, because it's a terrible joke. In other news, maybe I'll cool it with the killing now. For a bit. We'll see.

As always, thank you to all of my beautiful reviewers and for sticking with me thus far, I say it a lot but you'll probably never know how much it really means to me. Thank you.

Until next time.


	21. In The Night

Arena, Night Two.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

It takes those three assholes, although technically I guess they're my three assholes, the entire day to get the damn safe open.

Between Seren and Meritt, it looks more like a metal pancake than a safe. Duke gave up after about an hour, spending triple the amount of time looking around the lounge for anything resembling a code to open it. We didn't get lucky.

Meritt finally cracks the hatchet into the side of it, splitting the entirety of it open instead of just opening it the normal way. Works for me. When I finally am able to reach inside and actually grab a card, thank god, it feels like victory. If I just made them waste the whole day opening a safe, they'd probably kill me.

Now I'm standing in front of the door, just holding the key-card. Seren hits me.

"If you don't open it soon I'm going to die of old age."

"There better be something good in there," Duke mutters. "Like five million dollars."

"Or. _Or,_ it could be Meritt's boyfriend," Seren says instead. Meritt stares at her.

"Okay, seriously, if you don't fess up I'm just going to keep doing it."

Meritt shakes his head, but you can tell he wants to roll his eyes. Maybe even smile.

I jam the key-card in the slot while they're not looking. The little light above it flicks from red to green. Hesitantly, I try the door handle, almost breathing in a sigh of relief when it moves under my hand. It'd be even worse if, after all of this, it didn't even open.

I don't know which one of them even nudges me, but I fully open the door anyway. There's two little stairs, an even smaller section of hall, and then it opens up. I step into the middle of it.

It's like some sort of massive control panel, stretched out along the front wall. It's all screens and buttons and things I don't even have a name for. There's windows all above the panels, showing us the entire front end of the ship and whatever is beyond. It's too dark to see much of anything. I'm no Four kid, but this has to be where they navigated from. The bridge.

There's not much else here besides some sort of massive chair in the middle, clearly where the captain would sit, except—

"Is that a fucking body?" I splutter. "Nah, I'm leaving. Bye."

Seren grabs my arm as soon as I turn around. Duke and Meritt are still standing in the doorway anyway, so I don't know where I even thought I was going.

Meritt finally creeps closer to the chair, holding onto his hatchet. I can't say I blame him. It's gotta be a body - either that, or an extremely strategically placed pile of bones. He pokes at it with the handle. It doesn't move, except from where it shifts once the hatchet touches it.

I'm dragged towards it once Seren moves, because she's still holding onto me with no intent of letting go. Closer, though, it really is just a skeleton, dressed in a blood-splattered white coat. I look at Duke.

"You're matching. That's cute."

He glares at me. It's the farthest thing from funny, I know, but right now I really don't know what else to say, when it's not hard to figured out what happened.

There's a gun, old and faded, clutched between it's skeletal fingers and a matching hole dead center in it's skull.

"That's ... something, alright," Seren comments, but even she looks a little unsettled. She pries the gun out and shoves it at me.

"Congrats. That's your prize."

I really, really don't want it. I mean, it could be useful, if there's even more bullets, but my confidence level hasn't exactly been the most stellar as of late.

I'm two seconds away from handing it to someone else to check when there's an unearthly shrieking from the hall.

Duke snaps his mouth shut, whatever he was about to say clearly forgotten about. Seren gently lets go of my arm, reaching over her shoulder to grab one of her swords. I swallow. She looks at me with raised eyebrows, a very clear _stay here._ I don't know if it's directed to me or all of us.

Seren moves very slowly towards the door. It's funny, how she's the one going without any hesitation. One of us should at least be going with her. None of us look like we want to. Meritt finally moves after her, darting to her side just before she gets to the doorway.

Both of them go perfectly still once they get there. Neither of them even turn to look at me or Duke. That's when I realize we may have a situation on our hands. A bad one. Judging by the looks on both of their faces, it's really bad.

Meritt has one hand behind his back. He points to us, and then points somewhere else. Away from the door. Duke gets it way before I do, ducking under one of the control panels and flattening himself as far as he can to the wall underneath. I'm not gonna be stupid and stay out here by myself. I duck down next to him.

I don't know what the fuck could be out there.

They must have something figured out, because Meritt dives towards us out of nowhere. The shrieking from before turns into an all out scream the second he moves. Seren's still standing motionless in front of the door, only her eyes are a lot wider than they were before. I know better than to ask Meritt what the hell it is. His position, crouched at my side, says it all.

Seren sprints towards us, half sliding under the control panel at us. I'm pretty sure all of us reach forward to yank her under at once. We all end up in what is basically a pile of limbs, trying not to move. Seren's sword is not-so conveniently pressed between my chest and her arm, but I don't even really get to consider getting accidentally sliced because the thing walks through the door.

Stalks is more accurate. It's gotta be at least seven, maybe eight feet tall. It looks like it could have been human at one point, except now it's nothing but rake thin, too long limbs and milky white, bump skin stretched over bone. It's rib-cage is sticking out so far it's a miracle it can even walk. The worst part, though, is probably it's face. There's not a hair on the thing's head, it's very obviously blind eyes are practically bulging out of it's head, and it's teeth are as long as my fingers.

If I had the option to throw up right now, I probably would.

The blind thing might be better than we thought though. As long as we don't move, we might be okay. I really don't want to test our luck with killing it. Somehow I don't imagine it ending well.

The thing continues crossing across the room, stopping occasionally like it's trying to sniff us out. Another one scuttles through the door after it, slightly smaller, and then it quite literally crawls up the wall and onto the ceiling.

I'm definitely throwing up when this is over.

The bigger of the two leaves the room, screeching, when it finally gives up. The one on the ceiling crawls around for a few minutes, hovering dangerously above us, and then follows it out.

None of us move. I can't help but notice the gouges the thing's claws left in the ceiling.

"Guess we know why the Captain shot himself," Meritt whispers, so quietly I barely hear him.

Figures the only thing he's said since we got in here and it's the one thing that makes the most sense.

* * *

 **Kian Harvey, 15 years, District Five Male**

* * *

I know it was my fault.

Kole's tried to convince me that it wasn't. But the thing is, if they had left me behind for good, forgotten about me, I'd be the one that died and Mireya would have survived. There's no doubt about it.

So it is my fault. I don't care what anyone says.

The worst part is I walked into this not minding if I died. It's still better than going back to Five, living the life I was. And Mireya had every right to live, every right to win, according to Larz. She had things to go back to, things that might not last now that she's dead. Yet here I am, not even really wanting to live, but here because apparently, someone wanted me to.

It makes me feel even more guilty, thinking that way. Giving up, sitting here and letting whatever happens happens, that's not the way to go about it.

Which means I need to fight for it.

It would be a lot easier if I could move. Apparently all the moving and running around during the day didn't do much good for my ribs, if any. They look even worse than they did before, closer to full on black and blue than my normal skin colour. It's nice, though, to finally be sitting alone, even if I am being left alone with my thoughts for too long. I'm sitting on the loft floor of a suite, listening to Kole and Larz rummage around for food. They've collected almost an entire bag of it so far, probably enough to sustain us for a while. I was sitting on the bed, or on the couch, supervising as Kole called it, until I discovered that actually getting up from either of those spots was near impossible without hurting myself even more.

Sitting on the floor isn't that great either, but I have a banister to lean against and Larz can get me up without almost killing me, so that's a plus. I can also keep an eye on the door.

There's a shattering noise from the kitchen, like someone dropped something made of glass.

I swivel around, trying to catch a glance of the kitchen from my spot. The only thing I get to see, however, is Larz launching himself half over the bed before he almost takes my head clean off, basically tackling me to the ground. I don't have the chance to be confused, because I'm in so much agony I can barely breathe, let alone think. Larz shoves me somewhere, under the bed I think, but I can still barely see through the tears in my eyes.

It's probably a good thing I can't talk at the moment. He _did_ shove me under the bed and then followed, yanking Kole down after us. I didn't even _see_ Kole, let alone have time to prepare myself to get thrown around again.

It's also a good thing I can't get my breath back, because a second later a foot stomps down just a few inches away from the bed. Or at least it looks like a foot. It's about twice the times of a normal human foot, complete with actual talons.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lay my head against the floor. If I can't talk, I don't want to see either. Whatever's out there isn't worth seeing. It's just going to keep me awake, combined with the pain that's already there.

I don't know how long it's been, but the thing's definitely not leaving. You can hear it moving through the kitchen, almost soundless. Kole, pressed tight between him and Larz, is trying not to shake. She watches every moment of the thing, though, despite the fear.

Larz doesn't look like he'd try to fight it, at least not being able to see the rest of it, but he's the only one with an available weapon.

I really hope he doesn't try to fight it.

Guess we're not sleeping anytime soon.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

"You are _not_ fighting that thing," Elias hisses.

Ugh.

"Why not?" I whisper back. Whatever the hell thing is walking around in the library is going to come over here eventually and then we'll be fucked.

"Would you rather it come over here and eat you?" I point out. Elias glares at me. Larkin's across the room, flattened between the wall and an arm-chair. Whoever's bright idea it was to hide in the damn library should be the one that gets eaten, though, and I don't even remember who it was.

My shoulder's all wrapped up, fine and dandy, minus the constant agony, but I wouldn't be surprised if the mutt wandering around out there could smell it. It sure has hell can't see us. We'd all be dead by now if it could.

Elias stretches up, looking over my head at the thing across the room. It's getting closer to Larkin, someone he's more inclined to save than me, yet he doesn't look like he's planning on moving any time soon. Larkin won't even look at the pair of us, hidden behind a bookcase. Doesn't want to move, probably. Smart girl. Won't count for anything if she gets eaten, though, and sue me for not wanting to watch that happen any time soon.

And people say I don't have a conscience.

I lunge away from Elias, rolling myself behind the nearest bookcase. There's no hideous screeching, so I assume I'm safe. Elias continues glaring at me from our previous spot, looking very much like he's going to use me as bait if he gets the opportunity.

Creeping forward until I'm closer to Larkin and the thing, I heft one of the tomahawks off my back and into my hand. I wait until it's turned around to raise it fully.

I stand up, wielding the tomahawk back, and launch it directly into the thing's back.

It sticks solidly, somewhere between it's spine and it's ribs. Only issue is it doesn't crumple, or waver like I expect it to. There's a long moment of eerie silence, and then the thing turns around, looks directly at me, and screeches like it's extraordinarily pissed off.

Probably because it is.

Oops.

It dives towards me, digging it's claws into the floor directly where I used to be a second ago. I scramble back towards Elias, apparently agreeing with him since the first time since I met him that I probably shouldn't have tried to fight it. It's still screaming like a demon, desperately trying to seek us out in the dark. Elias is already across the room and to the doors now that the paths clear. At least it coming after me did _some_ good.

Much to my shock, Elias doesn't slam the doors shut and leave me in here as soon as Larkin gets out. He actually waits. Only issue is I've still got this thing on my tail and no time to get out the doors before it follows.

I grab the other tomahawk off my back and spin around at the last second. I could feel the thing's arm whistling through the air, almost to my back, and sure enough the tomahawk's blade digs right into the thing's wrist, severing through it with complete ease.

For a moment, it stops, looking down in almost a sense of confusion at it's hand, lying discarded on the floor, black blood pouring out of the stump where it used to be. I take off.

It realizes a second later that I'm running, but by then I'm grabbing the edge of the door and flinging myself out into the hallway.

I roll over on the ground just in time to see Elias slam the massive, wooden doors shut. The thing crashes into the other side, screeching manically and throwing itself against the barrier. Elias strains to hold it shut, but Larkin practically rips the massive claymore out of his belt and shoves it through the door handles. The metal creaks under the strain, but it's enough time to get away, if it holds for a minute or two.

I was always looking at Elias out of the corner of my eye, loaded with weapons as he was, but now I'm slightly grateful for them.

"Next time," Elias practically spits. "Please don't fight it."

"Don't know what you're complaining about," I manage, struggling up off the floor. My shoulder's burning. "It's still in there, isn't it?"

There's another loud thump from inside the library. Larkin flinches, stepping back a pace from the doors. Even Elias looks wary, but he stands his ground. Not surprising. His ego probably wouldn't let him move even if it was about to kill him.

"Can we go now?" She begs. "Please."

So that makes the first time I've been inclined to agree with them in such a short period of time. The thing is, though, I can hear more screeching, even from here. The silent ship from before is gone, and now it's over-run by these things that were nowhere in sight during the day.

I wonder if they'll go away when the sun goes up.

The door rocks again, more than usual this time.

"Yeah," Elias sighs. "Let's go."

He looks at the sword stuck in the door. Tough shit. He still has about 4 other weapons. I just lost one of my big ones. He'll survive without one. Besides, there's always the Cornucopia to go back to. We can replenish and come back out later.

These things better be gone tomorrow. I'm not getting chased for the next few days. I'm taking my game back.

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

We spent the entire day looking for an appropriate hiding spot only to be in the worst location possible when it finally happened.

We all thought, once the sun went down, we'd at least have a little bit. We'd almost decided to go back to the ice rink, but that would mean making it five floors back down. There wasn't any time.

The screeching started. The same noise from the videos. Without hesitation, Arella had grabbed both of us without a word and shoved us into hiding.

I don't even know what this place is.

The eighth floor is enclosed on both ends, but it's in the middle that's the weird part. It's like they carved a long trench out of the top of the ship so that it was open air. There's a garden here. Almost like a mini forest, complete with trees and ivy tendrils growing up pillars. There are little shops and restaurants and patios lining the pathways, but I don't think we should risk running into one of them.

Which is why I'm currently laying in the dirt and the grass, covered by fern leaves and the branches of little shrubs.

I look up, straight to the top of the ship. You can see the stars from here. It'd be pretty if what was going on wasn't terrifying.

Sinora's maybe a foot away from me, but crouched, looking around warily. With all of the leaves moving in the wind, the shadows are playing tricks on us. I don't see anything, but you never know.

I glance around for Arella. I finally catch sight of her, quite literally scrambling up one of the smaller trees in the middle of the garden. Typical. But at least she has eyes on the whole place. Through the little strands of fairy lights wrapped around the trunks I can just make out her form, back pressed to one of the steadier branches. The machete is held close to her side.

She gave the camera back to me once night fell, for safe keeping in my backpack. I was almost shocked. But we're working together, for now. I have to remind myself of that.

The worst thing about this spot is there's too many places to look. The pathways are behind us and in front of us, there are a half a dozen doorways and entrances on each side of us, and the conveniently open-aired area is lined with balconies overlooking the garden. These things, whatever they are, could come from anywhere. Even with three sets of eyes we might not be quick enough.

It's Sinora who tenses just the slightest bit, first. I move very carefully onto my side, watching her. The sickle in her hand points in the direction I need to look.

I can barely see it, through the greenery. I turn back to Arella, slowly. Judging by wide her eyes are, she can very clearly see it, and it's not good. All we could see in the video was the arm, long and pale and skinny. I can't imagine the rest of it looks very good.

Something in her eyes tells me not to move, too. So I don't.

A shadow flickers next to me, passing over the leaves. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Sinora crouched perfectly still, hands digging impossibly hard into the dirt. I close my eyes as the shadow grows larger, almost passing over me. I can hear its footsteps now, crunching against the dead leaves, nails scratching against the brick edge of the pathway. It must be right behind me.

Nothing happens. I hold my breath, as best as I can, as the footsteps patter away. Fast and then slow. No movement at all. It's still looking, but it's getting further away. Giving up. Moving onto another area to look for someone else.

I only know it's finally gone when Sinora lets our a shaky sigh, deflating. I crack open my eyes.

The first thing I see, conveniently, is another one hanging off the balcony directly behind Arella's tree.

I know better than to make a sound. That'll only make it worse. There's no way to warn her.

It's got one hand on the railing, one foot balanced on the edge of the tile, but it's other two limbs are dangling off. Stretching closer and closer to her. Testing it's limits to see how far it can go. It knows we're here.

Arella opens her mouth. Maybe to sigh, maybe to say something. All I have to do is shake my head and she stops, mouth frozen open, eyes confused.

The thing launches itself off the balcony.

There's even less time to warn her than I thought. I don't even get time to scream at her before it crashes into her back.

The two of them go plummeting out of the tree, it wrapped around her back. I can't tell who screams louder. I instantly right myself, scrambling off the ground, almost missing the chance to grab my spear I go sliding past it so quickly. Arella thumps into the ground with it on top of her, crushing the undergrowth, it's massive claws digging into her back. I can see the blood, bright as day, against the darkness of her green coat.

I know I said Arella had to go. But not like this.

The thing's teeth are centimeters from her neck when I crack the spear into the side of it's head. It goes spinning away, apparently uninjured, but turns back on us instantly. Arella scrambles away, Sinora hoisting her up, but it's already going back after them.

 _Don't be scared, don't be scared_. It's a mutt. Everything can be killed.

I half-step on Arella's machete, flung away when she fell, and take it into my other hand, just as it scrabbles after the pair of them through the grass.

I stab down with the spear, aiming right for it's leg. It goes all the way through, like paper, and sticks in the ground underneath. It wiggles frantically, realizing that for a split second it's trapped until it manages to rip itself away. One of it's hands reaches out again, back for Arella and Sinora, and I bury the machete in it's neck.

For a terrifying moment, I think it's going to keep going. I keep pushing, digging deeper until it's head is barely attached to it's body, black blood staining the ground underneath it. It lets out one last, pitiful screech and collapses to the ground, the machete almost taking it's head off entirely.

Arella, still almost entirely held up by Sinora's arms around her, stares at me in shock over it's body.

"Fuck," Sinora whispers. She adjusts her hold on Arella, who hisses in pain. There's blood dripping off her back. The cuts are probably deep.

"Sorry, sorry, should we—?"

"Go. I'm right behind you," I instruct. Sinora nods, slinging an arm around Arella's waist, and steps carefully around the body, emerging onto the pathway. She glances carefully both ways before darting into the doorway of the nearest restaurant, pulling Arella alongside her.

I yank the machete out of it's neck. More of the blackness splatters itself across my boots.

I just saved Arella's life. Maybe saved all of us, if things had gone south.

It feels good. But I know I didn't do it just for her.

When I ran up onto that stage, that's what I wanted the Capitol to see. Someone who wouldn't falter, who wouldn't hesitate, when the time came. Someone who was willing to play along. Those are the types of people that win. I knew that. Maybe those weren't the thoughts running through my head, when I killed the mutt, but they're the ones I'm thinking of now.

I did that for myself. Not anyone else.

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

"Just stay here," I hiss.

I know telling Rover to stay anywhere that isn't near me is a long shot, but it's worth asking, right?

He stares back at me in silence. I know better than to think that's the answer I want. Especially now that he looks even more traumatized than he already did.

My bad.

Though, technically, not my bad. I had no plans on killing Magne this early. If he hadn't tried it on me, he'd still be alive. So it's his own fault, not mine.

I think the reason for the extra amount of trauma in Rover's eyes is the fact that Magne's body is still in the infirmary with us. It took hours for me to peel him off the floor, another half hour to even get him to stand up on his own, and I was two seconds from dragging Magne's body into the hallway just to get it out of here when I started hearing things.

Ever since then, I've had no interest in opening the door to find out what it is.

"You're not going to stay here if I go outside, are you?" I ask flatly. Rover continues staring at me.

Guess not.

The noises have been calming down. I haven't heard any in the past ten minutes, which I think is a good thing. That doesn't mean we're safe, though. Sure, I shoved a sword through Magne's face about twelve hours ago, but what's out there is also a lot more terrifying than him. Which isn't a real compliment, by any means, but it also probably bites a lot harder.

I sigh. "Open the door, then. Not too much."

Rover only hesitates before hurrying behind the door, cracking it open an inch. I shove the sword through the opening, into the hallway, and wait a moment.

Nothing leaps forward to attack it. Nothing startles at the sudden movement. I push at the door again until Rover opens it just enough to let me poke my head out. I glance down each end of the hallway. I see a lurking, massive shadow disappear around one corner and freeze. It doesn't return. The other way is empty. Maybe it wasn't our brightest move to stay on one of the lowest floors. There are two directions to run in, and both are poorly lit and not all that promising.

I don't know how many floors I'd have to drag Magne's body up until I found a balcony, and I really don't want to leave a trail of blood. I step out into the hallway

"Grab the bags," I say quietly. "We're going."

Rover doesn't protest, for once. A minute later he appears in the doorway himself, passing my bag through the slot.

"W-what about—?"

"It's alright. Just c'mon. And leave the door open."

Rover looks back in the doorway, off to the side. No doubt at Magne's corpse. Maybe I got lucky, that he tried to kill me first. Kill Rover. Even I'll admit, that surprised. I never thought he'd turn on Rover. It justified me killing him, though, and Rover still trusts me for it because he thinks I saved his life.

He steps into the hallway next to me warily, leaving the door open as I instructed. I start off in the opposite direction of the shadow with him practically plastered to my back. I have the sword in my right hand, Rover's tiny knife in my left. He wouldn't take it back, after what happened to Magne. He can't stay weaponless forever. Eventually I'll have to shove it back on him.

"Erna."

Rover's hand reaches out, stilling on my shoulder. There's no stutter to his voice, no hesitation. That's what makes me turn around.

The shadow is back at the other end all of the hall. I grab Rover's arm, haul ass around the corner, and stop, keeping as close to the junction in hallways as I dare.

I don't look around the corner to see it, but I can hear it's feet pattering against the floor. Eventually it stops, though, and lets out a hideous noise. The next movement is makes is much larger, almost like it jumped towards something.

Rover might not be able to hear it, but I can. I think it just found Magne's body and might be having a snack.

I push at Rover's shoulder, a little frantically. "Time to go. _Now_."

He looks sufficiently terrified himself, enough so that maybe he did hear what's going on. No more time for hesitating, though. He holds the door to the stairs open for me and then shuts it painfully slow, only the click as it settles back into place audible.

"Now what?" He whispers. Looking to me for more direction. It's actually nice, not having Magne here to complain about something. And we can take the _stairs_.

Judging by the sudden absence, I think the mutts might be trickling back into wherever they were hiding during the day. Hopefully that's exactly what happens today too. Once the sun comes up, we might find a bit of solace.

"Just get ready to run, if you see anything. And then we're finding some food. I'm fucking starving."

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

"Abel. _Abel_. Don't—"

I scramble out from our hiding place. Glenn stares at me.

"—go out there," he finishes weakly. He sighs, rolling the bat across the ground towards me. I raise an eyebrow.

"I told you _six hours ago_ I didn't want it. If you're gonna go out there, take it."

I know neither of us can really picture him hitting someone with a baseball bat, but I'd still rather him have that than nothing. Hesitantly, I run my fingers over the knife in my belt. I haven't even touched it since the first day, and I wasn't really ever planning on it, but I take it out and toss it back to where Glenn's still hiding.

I'm not going to say out-loud that I can imagine Glenn hitting someone with a bat before he ever stabs someone. Right now, I don't really think it matters.

We haven't seen any people in what feels like forever. Or anything, really. We've heard some things I'd rather forget. I think part of it can attribute to the fact that Glenn choose the massive buffet area as the place to hide, with the argument of food no matter where we got stuck. The only issue is the room's so big everything's ten times louder than it should be.

A few hours back, we were somewhere at the edge of the kitchen when something crawled through the top of the doorway. Glenn ran one way, I ran the other, sending him into what was no doubt an absolute panic once he realized he had no idea where I was. He found me maybe twenty minutes later, skulking around in the dark like an idiot, when I reached my arm out from under a table, grabbed his ankle, and all but dragged him under with me.

Ignoring the fact that I had to knock him to the ground to do so. He didn't even really look upset.

It's getting light out, though. You can see the faint rays of light from the sunrise through the windows lining every outside wall. We can't stay hiding under a table forever.

The curtain lining the edges of the table fall back into place once I'm out fully. Glenn pulls two of them apart to watch.

"Just stay here," I tell him. "I'll be back in a minute."

"What if something happens?"

" _Stay here._ "

I start back off towards the kitchen, leaving him staring after me. It's true, though. If something happens I definitely don't want him coming after me. He's done enough, in such a short amount of time. He shouldn't have to risk his life too. Maybe it's because I feel like I owe him too, in a weird way. I probably would've let myself waste away if he hadn't found me when he did. Admittedly, the idea's still tempting. But I don't want to hurt him even more than I already have.

I prop open the kitchen door carefully, watching for signs of movement. I flick the light on.

The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling flicker to life. There's nothing in here. At least not anymore. Someone conveniently moved all of the butcher knives and other equipment out though; probably didn't even bother putting them in here in the first place. That'd be too easy. There is something on the far wall though, something that probably shouldn't be there but is anyway. I start making my way towards it, still looking for any signs of life. I could still be wrong about something being in here.

My fingers land on the glass case fastened to the wall. It's bolted shut. No big deal.

I slam the end of the baseball bat into it, sending shards of glass spinning to the floor. I brush the edge of the sill off, more glass landing on the floor. Glenn slides through the door, wide-eyed and clutching the knife like it's a lifeline.

"Thanks for terrifying me," he breathes, clutching at his chest like he's close to a heart attack.

"Sorry," I mumble, and I really am, only I'm more concentrated on not cutting my hand open. I pull the emergency axe out of it's holder, waving it around until Glenn's eyes land on it.

"You want it?" I ask. "Or should I take it too?"

Sure enough, he scrambles right over, practically yanking the axe out of my hand. His face lights up like I haven't seen it since we've been in here. It's relieving.

His barely-there smile falters completely when he looks at me, disappearing entirely within a moment of seconds. Like he thinks he's not allowed to be happy. It's my fault. There's no other reason for it.

The sunrise pours through the door, lighting up the room even further. The room, the whole area, is eerily silent. Nothing like the past few hours.

Looks like we made it through the night.

* * *

Hello and welcome to Twist takes mutts out of a goddamn video game because she's super uncreative. Sue me for liking Until Dawn too much. Except don't sue me, Sony. This chapter had approximately zero actual purpose in it other than for me to briefly terrorize everyone. But I will actually cool it now! For five minutes. Because it was a total lie last time.

I'm putting a **poll** up. Pick all 8 options so I don't have to threaten anyone. Please note it says 'want' and not 'think'.

Also, come back to me precious reviewers. I love you. Please don't be dead.

Until next time.


	22. What Lies Beneath

Arena, Day Three.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

I don't even know how I managed to sleep last night.

None of us even wanted to move out from underneath the control panels. Eventually we decided that closing the door was probably our best option. And safest. But in order for any of us to get the balls to do it, we all had to go together, and it involved scrambling over each other and practically plastering ourselves to the back of the door once we got it shut.

Kal was right, about getting in here. It might've saved us. For now.

We fell asleep basically the same way back under the control panels in yet another tangled mess. It's a far cry from the couches of the night before, but it seems to keep happening. We should probably just accept it.

It would help if any of them had shoulders that _weren't_ bony as fuck.

I settle for resting my head against the floor. I'm pretty sure Duke's laying on my one leg, and I can't even really tell who's got the other one trapped.

I get why Meritt feels so wary about it all. This feels too right. Too safe. Too trusting.

And I don't want to leave it.

Don't get me wrong, I have friends in Two. Close friends. But it feels easy, here with these three. Maybe in a real life situation we wouldn't all work, but somehow we do here. Maybe because we were all forced together; maybe we all just needed to strike out in our own direction and found each other when we did it.

It worries me, it really does. Just in a different way.

I free my feet of their confinements, scooting away until I can stand up. The sun's been up for a little bit, but I don't think any of us were particularly keen on moving. Between the lack of sleep and what happened last night, staying here was peachy.

We can't stay here forever, though. Time to see if the boogeymen are gone.

I press my ear against the metal door, listening. Maybe it's just the senses talking, but I think the things from last night are gone.

I creak open the door. I can see Kal jerk his head up at the noise out of the corner of my eye, which no doubt results in him kicking the other two awake, unintentionally or not. Peeking out into the hallway confirms it. There's nothing there. I take out a sword anyway, walking a few paces down the hallway. The lounge is still empty, as are the other rooms.

Looks like we're all good.

Kal appears in the empty doorway looking extraordinarily exhausted. His hair is sticking in every possible direction. He gives me a hesitant thumbs up.

I nod. "All good. I hope."

While the things are gone for now, they'll probably be back tonight. Maybe they'll start going easier on us, or maybe it'll get worse and we'll be forced to go on the offensive. Guess we'll see.

"Thank fuck," Kal mutters. "Didn't wanna deal with one of them again."

"And by deal with it you mean hide behind us," Duke points out, rounding the corner. He tosses me my pack.

"No, _thank you_. What I was getting at, is that I didn't want to deal with one before we're prepared. 'Cause I have a plan, dammit. So hear me out. Why'd you want to ally with me?"

"Because I needed another person to add to my boy-band," I say as flatly as possible.

He scowls at me. "You're not funny. Because I'm not actually useless. Traps and all that. Remember?"

I stare at him. His scowl intensifies.

"You know what I'm talking about. Anyway. We're gonna have to kill those things eventually. Problem is they're fast as hell and you're gonna need one clear as fuck shot to do it. So, do you trust me to stop them? Because I trust you to kill them."

There's a pause. Meritt appears out of the bridge and shoves a bag at Kal's chest.

"That might be the most motivational thing that's ever come out of your mouth," Meritt says simply. "And that's not sarcasm, so don't have a meltdown."

Kal beams, pointing at Meritt. "See. He's got my back."

The thing is, it's probably gonna be the best shot we get. And I watched him do it in training. For whatever reason, he knows what he's talking about. It's the only way possible he got a seven. They knew he had the power to stop something too. Now it's our time to recognize it, and use it.

"So what do we do?" Duke asks. "Up to you."

Kal almost looks lost, for a moment. I can't say I blame him. He's got three Careers staring at him, asking him what to do like he knows best. The truth is, he does right now. I said earlier that I trusted him, and I wasn't lying when I said it.

"Sixth floor," Kal decides suddenly. "That's where the carousel is."

I take back what I said about trusting him.

"The what?" Meritt mutters. I don't know which one of us shakes our head first.

"Don't worry, man. We'll educate you," Duke says encouragingly.

I didn't even know there was a carousel on this damn boat, let alone have time to wonder why there is one and why Kal has made getting to it priority number one.

I chose this, though. Without hesitation. Maybe it was partially my brothers, but it was me too. There's no doubt in my mind I would've chosen this over anything resembling this over the Careers. I got lucky.

"Seriously, how do you not know what that is after seventeen years of life?" Kal says incredulously, like the thought of someone not knowing what a carousel is is personally offending him. Like that's our biggest problem right now.

Maybe it is. Maybe we really are lucky.

* * *

 **Arella Trinett, 18 years, District Seven Female**

* * *

"I never said thank you for last night, did I?"

Kinnon looks at me in the dim lighting of the restaurant. She almost looks awkward. That or hesitant. Neither are words I would ever associate with her.

"Don't think so. But it's fine."

I don't know if fine is the word I'd go with, but if it works for her, that's great. My back feels like it's on fire. Kinnon managed to get the thing away from me quick, but not quick enough. It still dug it's claws in deep, in multiple spots, and enough to hurt constantly. So no, I wouldn't say it's fine, but it's better than being dead.

I just keep thinking of Andie. Andie, who's a hell of a lot more fragile than I am, who is probably un-moving in front of the screen in our little shared room, feeling everything I am. Aubrey's probably handling it better, but it still can't be all that great.

If I don't deserve to go through this, then they definitely don't deserve to watch it happen.

"I'm serious, though. Thank you. You could've let me die, and you didn't. Means a lot."

Kinnon smiles, looking almost a little pleased. A few days ago I'd have been more wary of that look, but now my reassurance is coming from the fact that we might have come to an understanding. I don't know if I'll ever trust her the way I trust Sinora, but it's something.

It's weird. I've spent so long letting so few people in. Maybe that's why it was so hard to accept Kinnon. She just barged in, started at my walls without permission. Now that she's actually decided to back off, look around, we get along. Maybe we're not friends, but it's easier than hating her on a minute by minute basis.

Hating is already getting exhausting.

We didn't sleep last night as is. Even attempting to patch my back up was rough-going. We were always checking over our shoulders, making sure nothing was creeping up on us. It got so draining that I can't even blame both of them, for finally having the audacity to be tired.

Sinora finally finishes packing up as much food as she can into her own bag as well as Kinnon's. She sags down onto the floor of the restaurant next to me, a weary smile on her face, just as Kinnon gets to her feet.

"I'm gonna go back and make sure everything's fine outside," she says. "You guys good here?"

I think they're done terrorizing us, for now. Kinnon can obviously handle herself anyway. I think this is our respite, before it starts all over again tonight.

Both of us nod. Kinnon takes off with her spear and my machete, gently closing the glass doors behind her.

"She's different, hey?" I notice. Sinora nods again.

"Yeah. Nicer. I know last night wasn't a good thing, but ... progress right?"

I know where she's coming from. Maybe it'll be good for us in the long run, if we can get a hold of some medicine, or if I can walk without stumbling anytime soon. Maybe all of this will have been worth it.

"Do you trust her?" I ask quietly.

Sinora looked so comfortable with Kinnon, at first. I should've known she would never abandon me like that, but it still worried me. It's nice to have Sinora back by my side, with me because she wants to be, because we chose each other as allies before anyone else.

"I don't know," she answers, and she almost sounds a little sad. "Before last night I would've said no. Now I'm not so sure. She didn't have to save your life. She didn't have to fight it alone. And she still did."

The thing is, we have to be sure. For all we know, Kinnon's playing us right now. Being nice for the sake of it, only to stab us in the back. We'll never know until it happens.

"I want to trust her," I say. "But I don't know if it's worth it. My sister, my fiancée ... I don't know if it's worth losing that."

Sinora quirks an eyebrow at me. "Fiancée, hey? We're just full of surprises these past twelve hours."

I can't help but laugh a little, under my breath. It just feels so nice to say it out-loud, to know that if I get back Andie's waiting and nothing can stop us from finally living.

Home seems like a foreign concept right now. Back home I knew who I trusted. Right now, I know I trust Sinora, and that she won't let anything bad happen as long as she can prevent it. I know she's as wary as me about getting close to someone, about being friends, but I think we already passed that point.

Now we just have to protect each other, even if that wasn't our original goal.

It's startling to think I want to include Kinnon in that, now. That I could.

It's a nice feeling, finally being able to take control of what's going on. I might be injured, and it might stop me from getting where I am, but there are people who will pick me back up.

That I know.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

I had a dream about my accident.

It's weird. It only happened three years ago, yet it feels like a lifetime ago. I know I have a constant reminder, but I don't think much about it nowadays. Maybe it's happening now because of everything else going on. Traumatic events find solace in each other, I guess.

Kian's finally sleeping. Between last night and the things we saw, I'm glad. He's already been through too much.

Larz woke up from his brief nap not long after I did. He looks troubled too. Maybe that's just because of everything that's happened, too. He's been picking at the twine bracelet around his wrist since he's woke up.

"You alright?" I ask him. He barely looks up.

"Fine. I think."

He's not doing a very good job at sounding convincing. He continues leaning up against the counter, picking at the twine. I get up and boost myself up onto the counter across from him, just watching.

"Who gave you that?"

Larz finally looks up at me, but he still looks all closed-off. Maybe even confused.

"Uh. It was my sister's. She died in the 146th. My parents were gonna bury her with it, but I clearly didn't listen. Kinda glad I didn't now."

I don't even know what to say. Sure, I've experienced my fair amount of trauma, but I've never had to watch someone I love die. I can't even imagine watching Atticus die, can't imagine losing my only sibling and not even having a choice to fix it. Maybe that's why Larz is so quiet, sometimes.

It makes sense now, why he's taking Mireya so hard.

Saying I'm sorry will never be enough to fix all of that.

"My mentor won the 146th," I say softly. Larz actually manages a smile.

"Guess he didn't mention he was allied with my sister."

It takes me back to the trains for a second. I thought Lumin was being quiet to let us watch the recaps. Maybe it's because he saw a last name he recognized and concluded that it was happening all over again. Another sibling taken from Three. And his own tributes are allied with him.

Fate's got a twisted way of working, sometimes.

"So, why are you not sleeping? Too much to think about?"

"Something like that."

Nobody will ask. That's the worst part. No one will ask for fear that they're pushing me too far. I just wish someone would. I'm not going to fall apart. I didn't spend the past year re-building myself for people to still treat me like I'm made of glass. I suppose I should be used to it by now. It doesn't make me feel any better about it.

"I don't like having dreams about my accident," I say suddenly. "Because then it's like it has control over me, and it doesn't. I don't want it to."

"I'm pretty sure if it had control over you you'd have given up by now," Larz points out. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

My Dad says that sometimes too. It's gotten easier to accept.

I know I give myself a hard time. What I don't know is how to stop.

"I just didn't want to let anyone down and I'm already doing it," I whisper. "It's like every time I try and it just gets worse."

I let myself wither away for two years after my accident only to realize I was tearing the family apart, so I fixed it. I stopped being that girl, I worked harder, I crawled out of bed in the morning even when I didn't want to. It got easier. That I didn't expect. The work I've put in outweighs the mistakes I've made.

Now I've stepped up, voiced my opinion to find Kian, and Mireya's dead.

If only I could fix that as easily.

"I think we just need to accept that it's only gonna get worse in here. I don't want you to blame yourself. I don't want Kian to either. So I'll stop moping as long as you do. Deal?"

I can't help but shake my head, fighting the urge to smile even the slightest. I know Larz is trying to make me feel better. For the type of person he is, on the quieter side, never pushing, he knows when to say the right things. Now I just have to figure out how to keep going.

It shouldn't be that hard, really. The past three years have been nothing but survival for me. This should be a piece of cake.

Should be.

Guess we'll see soon if it really is.

"Yeah," I concede. "Tell that to Kian when he wakes up, though, because he hates himself just as much as the rest of us right about now."

I just hope we can convince ourselves of something else before it's too late.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

Erna's trying to make me hit her.

"You have to learn to throw a punch eventually. Just do it."

I'm not going to hit her.

She continues staring expectantly at me. "Unless you can convince me you've successfully hit someone before, I'm not going to stop, so quit it."

She's standing in front of me, looking the perfect picture of a cage fighter, hands balled into fists, feet bouncing against the ground. It's weird, how natural she looks doing it. There's no way I'd ever get that close, no way I even want to. That means endangering someone else's life.

"Okay, hear me out. You don't want to hit me. I get it. But what if someone attacked us, right here, right now. What are you going to do? Stand there? If you won't take the knife and you won't hit someone either, what are you going to do?"

Protect her as best I can without doing either of those things. I don't want the knife back, not after Magne pressed it up against my throat. I can feel the chunk he took out of my neck every time I so much as talk. Erna did the best she could to patch it up, but I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to help her out or make her job easier.

I don't want her to die too.

"Theoretical situation," Erna starts. "One of the Career alliances walk through those doors. What are you going to do?"

She's pointing at the set of swinging doors to our right. Her goal of food was accomplished, leading to us camping out in one of the kitchens, but she's probably got a point. Someone could come in here any second.

What would I do?

I learned the hard way mediating doesn't work. Not in here, at least. Magne didn't stop when I asked him to, and Erna's life was on the line. They were going to kill each other no matter what I did. What makes me think the Careers will stop and listen, if even my own allies won't?

"If it's just me fighting them, I'll die. Do my best to take one of the fuckers out with me, but I'll be dead. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"You're not going to die," I insist quietly.

"I won't if you help me," she maintains. "Just trust me on this."

She steps forward out of nowhere, one of her hands raised, and I take an involuntary step back, trying not to flinch. She stops immediately, freezing in position.

"You know I'm not gonna hurt you, right?"

I thought Magne wouldn't hurt me, either, until he turned on me because he was too desperate to notice the difference.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Erna insists. "Believe me. I only do that to people who deserve it."

"So Magne deserved it?"

Erna's expression doesn't change. She still has one arm raised the slightest.

"Yes," she says evenly. "I know you don't see that. But anyone who tries to hurt us does. Anyone who tries to take that away from you does. You don't have to see it. But I do."

She carefully raises her other hand, stepping forward again until her fingers are locked around my wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, not even tight enough to keep me there. I could pull away if I wanted to.

I don't want to.

Erna pries my tense fingers open, and then presses my knife into my hand. She closes my fingers back over it, tightening her hand over mine. I can barely even meet her eyes.

So much for the glass being half full instead of empty. Nothing's right anymore.

"I know you don't want it. I know you don't want to use it. Just in case, though."

That 'just in case' might as well be synonymous with miracle. I can't even imagine it happening, let alone the fallout. Would killing someone really be worth it, if it just ended with me wanting to die too? At the same time, I imagine someone about to kill Erna. Am I really going to just stand there, if it was to happen? Am I just going to stand there and watch her die?

My main goal was to make sure Magne and Erna were alright. I already screwed up with one of those, screwed up majorly.

I take a hold of the knife. Erna smiles, taking a step back.

"Just keep that with you. You better not stick it back in my bag when I'm not looking."

I think she'd have laughed or made it sound more sarcastic, if I was more at ease. I miss when Erna didn't care, when she wasn't worrying about me so much. It just makes me feel more like a burden, even if she says I'm not.

"Now, you're going to give me instructions on how to actually fix up your neck. Apologies in advance," Erna says. She makes me sit down, the knife still clutched tight in my hand, and grabs the first aid supplies we took from the infirmary.

Slowly, she pulls the bandages off my neck, but I don't even flinch. She still looks over every other second, watching my face.

"Good?"

I want to say no. That's the truth. This isn't okay. I don't want to kill someone, I don't want to watch her die, and I didn't want to watch Magne die either. I don't know what I'm supposed to do other than lie to her.

"Yeah. It's fine."

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

"Maybe if you stop hitting the buttons it'll work?"

Abel only spares me a brief glance before hitting the emergency button in the elevator again.

We're stuck. In an elevator.

It's like a scene straight out of a movie.

I don't know if Abel's annoyed, irritated, angry, or all three. I also don't know if they're directed at me or the elevator. Which could be a problem, I guess.

"It'll turn back on eventually?" I try. "They won't keep us stuck in here forever."

They won't. We both know that. People only get trapped in elevators for very specific reasons, and unless Abel plans on making one hell of a love confession, I'm pretty sure they're forcing us to confront the surprisingly small elephant in the room that is Viscaria. Or elevator. It'd be angering, ridiculous almost, if I didn't want it to happen too. The thing is I don't know how to act around him. I want to fix things. I want to find out _how_ to fix things. Abel's trying to be self-sacrificing, he's trying to make up for it in whatever way he can, and I don't want him to.

I just want it to go back to the way it was before, when Abel actually looked remotely happy and didn't look away when I tried to look him in the eye.

Abel hits his head against the wall, lighting up another of the buttons with his forehead. He glances at it like it's personally offended him.

"Can you please just stop?"

"I'd like to get out of this elevator, actually."

"I didn't mean the elevator."

Abel keeps his head against the wall. "Is this really happening?"

"If you agree to stop being a fuckhead they'll probably let us out."

"Since when did you have such a potty mouth?"

" _Abel_."

He sags down to sit on the ground, eyes closed, legs crossed. Again, not looking at me. I kind of want to yell at him. I also know that wouldn't help. I sit down on the floor next to him. The axe hanging from my belt clinks against the ground as I do. Another reminder that Abel's looking out more for me than himself, that he told me to hide while he made sure we were safe.

"How many times do I have to say I don't blame you?"

"I wish you would, though," Abel says quietly. "It'd be fucking easier than this."

"Than what?"

"Than you acting like I'm innocent of all wrong-doing, like I'm wrong for beating myself up about it."

The thing is, he's not innocent. He killed someone. But doesn't that just make him a victim? All of us are victims in here, volunteer or not, whether we kill someone on purpose or on accident. In the end our names don't matter, where we came from doesn't matter. The only one of us that ends up mattering is the one who wins.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask him. "You killed Viscaria. You murdered someone. Is that what you want to hear?"

If it hurts me to say it, I can't imagine how Abel feels. Maybe that's what he needs, though. To know I'm aware and that I'll survive. I don't have any other choice.

"I also know that you're going to get yourself killed because you think you deserve it."

Abel's looking up at the ceiling now. I don't know how long he can avoid looking at me before it gets tiring. It probably already is. He also doesn't look like he plans on saying anything anytime soon. With a defeated sigh I take my backpack off, dropping it on the floor. I scoot down until I can lay my head against it, closing my eyes, waiting. It might be a while.

I'm two seconds from sleep god knows how long later, when I just barely hear him.

"I really don't wanna die," he whispers. I don't move. I feel like if I move he'll shut down again.

I don't say anything for a minute. I feel more than hear him deflate, leaning back against the wall.

"Then stay alive," I respond. "Because I don't want you to die either."

Maybe Abel reacts, maybe he doesn't. I close my eyes again anyway. If we're stuck here, then I might as well make use of it in some way.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

I should know better than to be anywhere alone.

I'm not alone. Not technically. Elias and Alana are no doubt arguing about something up on the second floor of the room, and I can't handle them all the time. I could still hear them on the bottom floor, too. I just needed peace and quiet.

The balcony is easily the most unsettling place to be standing, probably. We're eleven floors up. I can, however, close the sliding door behind me, which blocks out all of the noise coming from the inside. Now all I can hear is the waves beating against the side of the ship. Nothing else.

I lean my forearms against the railing and look down. It really is terrifying. Ten doesn't have Training Centers like the Careers do, almost none of us have ever learned how to swim like they do. Like the Fours just know how to. If I fell off right now, no one would know. I'd drown before someone thought to come looking for me. They would probably just assume I left, too tired of dealing with them on a daily basis.

I don't really want to leave. I don't feel safe alone. Not after last night.

I'm still half-convinced that one of those mutts is going to appear and drag me back inside, kill me before I have a chance to scream. Elias seems to think they're gone for the day, though. But if that's true, then where the hell did they go?

There's a crazy part of me that can't stop thinking about the water. They appeared and disappeared with the sun like it was nothing. The Gamemakers can't keep hiding them, storing them until they're ready to be used.

"You doing alright out here?"

I startle a bit. I hadn't even noticed Elias open the door. He's leaning against the opening, just watching me.

"You said the Twelve kid's body was gone, didn't you?"

Elias raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. Why?"

"Just have a bad feeling about the water," I explain.

"So you're telling me the one thing I like about this place is a no-no."

"Maybe? I just don't like it. Something tells me it's not a place we're supposed to be."

Which should be obvious. It's not like I'd survive in the water unless someone was there to keep me up. But it feels like more than that. We're safe here during the day, obviously. The only enemy we have is people. At night it's a different story. We're more focused on running and hiding than playing the game, and that's not how the Gamemakers like it, only they're doing it anyway.

Maybe things have changed.

"You are alright though, hey?" Elias repeats. "You did the right thing, you know."

For myself. I'll have to kill to win, there's no doubt about that. It doesn't mean it's right. I think it's that that I'm struggling with the most.

The Three girl didn't even put up much of a fight; that might be the worst part. Sure, she held on for dear life, but she didn't struggle much. She knew how it would end either way. I feel like a hypocrite, criticizing Alana for killing my District partner yet taking someone else's life away anyway.

"I'll be okay," I tell him, trying to sound confident. There's no point in saying I already am; he can see right through it.

Elias nods, apparently satisfied that I'm at least trying, and steps back inside.

"Just don't go jumping in, alright? If you're right and there's something fucked up going on in there I'm not jumping in after you."

He waits until I nod back to leave, gently sliding the door shut behind him, leaving me in silence once again. Hopefully the two of them have stopped bickering for now, because I don't know if I can deal with listening to it once I go back inside.

I look down again, back at the waves. No body, but enough blood to be concerning. Enough to plant a seed of worry.

In Elias' words, I'm almost certain something fucked up is going on down there.

I just really hope I'm wrong.

* * *

Poll's still up for a bit if anyone wants to get in on that. You guys aren't even being subtle about who the fave alliance is at this point.

Don't really have much to say this time around! I hope everyone's doing alright and that you guys can come back and feed my selfish review-whore lifestyle, eventually. As always let me see some feedback, if you can. And predictions. I love predictions too, in case it wasn't unusually obvious by now.

Until next time!


	23. Thirteen

Arena, Night Three.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

For whatever weird, most probably dumb reason, we're back at the ice rink.

It's colder in here than it ever gets in Eleven, the icy chill in the air clinging to my skin. It's also darker than I thought. There's a myriad of bright, neon-coloured lights illuminating the ice, but not much else. The second you step away from the rink you're enveloped in the cold and the dark and to be completely honest, it's not the most reassuring feeling I've ever experienced.

I'm also hearing things. Or maybe not. I swear I'm looking over my shoulder every two seconds, thinking something's in the shadows in the corner of the room or that I just heard the scrape of a foot over the walkway.

I also know it's just Kinnon. But that doesn't help to ease my nerves.

I start up the stairs to the second floor, making sure to keep a hand on Arella's arm. She can walk, but she's not able to hide that she's in pain the way she wants to. We didn't have enough supplies to fix everything; there was blood managing its way through the bandages before we even left for the ice rink. It's no doubt worse now. I know she'll still run, if she has to, but I can't imagine it going the way we want we have planned.

Kinnon makes it to the second floor balcony first. There's only a few rows of seats over-looking the rink, but it feels a little bit safer when we're not in such an open place.

"This is either gonna be a great idea or a stupid one, isn't it?" Arella mutters, taking a few steps forward. I hum my agreement. It could go either way, really. We haven't seen anything so far, but the sun also hasn't been down for long.

Kinnon stops in the middle of the balcony, hand locked around the railing. She holds out a hand to us. A very clear _stop_.

I watch both of their eyes flick downward, back towards the ice. I can hear the slip-slide of feet against it.

My hand is still locked around Arella's elbow, keeping her steady, the other pressed gently against the back of her coat. She stops, more quickly than I thought she was capable of in her current state. I almost slide right into her.

I can't see whatever Kinnon does, but right now I have to trust her. I can just barely see over Arella's shoulder anyway, not enough to be able to make anything out. The disadvantages of being the shortest.

Maybe it's a good thing I can't see. Arella's face, from what I can see, is telling me she wishes she couldn't either.

We're all so focused on looking downwards that I don't hear anything behind me.

Something drops down from the ceiling ten feet from my back, landing with a dangerous creak on one of the chairs in the row behind where we're standing. And I don't see it, but the way Kinnon's eyes slide to the side, trying to look behind me, I can tell if I move anywhere in the next few seconds I'm dead.

I don't know if I'm holding onto Arella to keep her steady or to make sure I don't move. I've got such a tight hold on her I can feel my fingers cramping, but she doesn't move at all.

There's blood against my fingers. It's so dark I can't make out how much of it is seeping straight through Arella's coat onto me.

The thing behind me hisses, letting out a wave of air that stirs the edge of my own coat just a bit, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can already tell it's closer. Too close to be comfortable, that's for sure. It takes another step closer to my back, so much so that I can _feel_ it's presence behind me instead of imagining it.

Kinnon doesn't know where to look, which means that someone in the Gamemaker's control room decided to be an extra big asshole and set us up in the one place they knew we'd end up going back to.

There's more blood against my fingers than I initially thought. It's like it's sniffing us out, like it knows it's next meal is close, and it's already bleeding.

We barely escaped last night intact.

I can't imagine it happening twice.

It moves away again, still looking for us. Kinnon moves just the slightest bit, following it with her eyes. I stare at her and she shakes her head, barely perceptible.

More footfalls, closer again. How many can there be in one place?

Kinnon's still staring at me. I cling tighter to Arella, trying not to move.

 _I'm sorry_ , she mouths. I don't even get time to react before she lunges at us.

She crashes bodily into Arella. Screeches ring out in every direction, so loud I can't hear anything else. I go crashing to the ground, half under Arella. Kinnon has her fingers locked into the lapels of Arella's coat, dragging her away from me. Nothing's attacking us. I don't know if it's because they're letting us decide what happens or if they're just not on us yet.

Arella gets dragged back up to her feet, crying out in pain before she can smother the noise. There's another screech. Something that inhuman shouldn't sound so encouraging, so excited. Kinnon slams Arella back into the railing so that it digs directly into her back. Blood's dripping off the tail end of her coat, landing lightly on the ground next to me. Why am I still on the ground, for God's sake?

I struggle back to my feet, but Kinnon shoves me back before I can even get close, sending me sprawling back against the chairs.

The two of them are just staring at each other, Kinnon holding Arella against the railing. Any harder and she'll push her right over.

Which is exactly what she's going to do.

Kinnon shoves at her again. Arella's legs crumple just the slightest bit more, her weight tipping over the railing. She's staring at Kinnon in terror, in utter fear, too in pain and too confused to do anything against her. We still aren't being attacked. It's only a matter of time before they get bored and decide to spur things into action.

"I didn't want it to be this way," Kinnon whispers, and then she practically throws Arella off the balcony.

All I expect to see is Arella go plunging to the rink below. She's almost completely gone when one of her hands locks around Kinnon's upper arm, dragging her half off herself. Kinnon's clinging to the railing with one hand and pushing frantically at Arella with the other, trying to shove her off, trying to get her to let go before they both go plunging to their deaths.

If I don't move they're both going to die.

Scrambling to my feet, I lunge for Kinnon. She's the closest one to me, feet still planted on the ground, top half dangling over the railing. Arella's still holding fast onto her arm, legs wind-milling frantically in the air like she's looking for something that'll catch her. There's nothing there. There's nothing that'll save her, and I can't pull the both of them back up on my own.

I tangle my hands into the back of Kinnon's jacket, looking down. Arella's eyes meet mine, filled with a determination only she could be capable of when she's two seconds from falling to her death.

I lock one arm around Kinnon's waist and strike down at Arella's arm. She doesn't even realize what's happening until I've hit my hand against hers, fingers locked white around Kinnon's arm. I hit her again, her fingers faltering. She stares up at me in horror, scrabbling to hold onto Kinnon's arm. One of her fingers slip. Then another. She tries to reach up with her other arm to grab at us, dangling in empty air, and misses.

I hit her again, as hard as I can. The last thing I see of her hand is her nails digging frantically into Kinnon's skin, trying to hold on with everything she has, before she lets go.

With Arella's weight gone, my tight hold on Kinnon sends us both flying backwards, slamming against the seats behind us. I hear the thud of Arella hitting the ice just as the screeches ring out again. One of the mutts goes flying over our heads, grabs the railing, and swings itself straight to the ground. Another one follows. They're screeching, almost in joy.

I stare in horror at the ground below us. Kinnon's still holding onto me, honest to god shaking. Arella's motionless body is lying face-down on the ice, but there's no cannon. Not until one of them descends on her, claws digging into the back of her neck. Another one is crawling over her legs, hands and feet stamping through the smear of blood across the ice.

Kinnon stares at me in silence. I keep looking down. There's so much blood, so many of them crawling over Arella's body. Kinnon tried to push her off, tried to sacrifice Arella to stop the inevitable, but it was me who finished it. Me who made sure only one of us fell.

 _Boom._

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

I don't really get what's so interesting about the carousel.

All of them are _insisting_ it'd be more entertaining if it was on, or if it even worked in the slightest, but I'm not really getting the appeal. To me it just looks like a bunch of manufactured horses that spin in an endless circle, and according to Seren, they're not all that comfortable to sit on.

Kal still got what he needed, clearly. He spent half the day doing what I thought was destroying the switchboard for it, but he ended up pulling most of it apart and shoving it into his bag; pieces of cable and things I didn't even have a name for. Eventually we relocated to a different room on the same floor, one small enough that it would be easy to rig up. Though really, the only who is even remotely considering this easy is Kal.

As for the rest of us, I'm pretty sure we have zero clue what's going on.

Seren and Duke spent an hour hiding stuff on him, and he still doesn't know which one of them to blame. I think I'm the only one who's really helping, although my helping only consists of me handing him stuff that he doesn't want to get up and retrieve himself and moving when he tells me to.

Now that the sun's gone down, we've all retreated into the sole bedroom of this room. It's probably for the best. Kal has something rigged up at the front door, another three or four rigged up throughout the kitchen and living room, and a different sort of something that looks about ten times as elaborate set up in the last remaining door-way in front of us.

"Is that gonna work?" Seren asks flatly.

"Have _faith_ ," Kal insists. "It'll work."

"I have faith, nerd. What if I have to go to the bathroom, though? You've blocked us off now."

"Hold it."

Seren mutters something under her breath, probably something offensive, and sits down at the edge of the bed.

 _Boom._

Kal flinches, almost entangling his own hand in whatever contraption's at the door, and scoots back towards us. He sighs.

"That's great," he says. "Real great. Wonder who that was."

I don't know if any of us really want to imagine. It was bound to happen eventually. The fact that no one died the first night this happened was a miracle. Things like that don't usually happen twice.

There's a sudden scrabbling coming from the living room, a loud screeching, and then a sound like feet scraping against the ground. It's not like we can go outside to look, but I think whatever Kal did worked. At least one of them was stopped from coming in. A smile almost appears on Kal's face when he realizes, but then another one no doubt figures a way in over it's trapped companion and drops itself in the middle of the living room.

It stares at us, sightlessly for a moment. It starts forward, almost instantly stepping into another one of the contraptions. A piece of wire or cable or something grabs onto it's leg, dragging it straight to the ground, immobilizing it.

It happens again. Another one comes crawling in, towards us, once again getting caught before it can get close.

Kal makes a face at the same time the rest of us do. Or at least everyone else. I already knew it wasn't going as planned.

"Is anyone else gonna ask why there's so many of them?" Duke asks. No one says anything.

The biggest one yet appears in the living room, examining the contraption in the bedroom's doorway like a puzzle. Another one inches towards us from behind it.

"Is that gonna hold all of them?" I ask Kal, as quietly as possible. He continues staring.

"Absolutely not."

That's an issue.

"Okay, time to go," Seren announces. She grabs Duke's shoulder and shoves him towards the balcony door.

I don't know who starts spluttering about it first, Duke or Kal, because clearly neither of them have any plans of jumping off the balcony any time soon. I take a step closer to the door. The massive one is still staring like it can see me.

"I am not being a guinea pig and jumping into the water," Duke insists. Seren shoves him outside anyway and gets a hold on Kal's arm before he can run in the opposite direction.

"Mer, we gotta go," Seren urges. "Unless you wanna get eaten."

I really don't. But I watch as a bead of water drips off the elbow of the one still standing in the doorway. It lands on the floor without a sound. Another one wobbles off it's chin, clinging to it's skin. There are wet footprints left in the wake it left when it started headed towards us.

"What if there's something down there?" Duke inquires, wide-eyed. Kal shakes his head, like the mere motion can make what's about to happen stop.

"There isn't," I whisper.

All of them look at me. Seren reaches forward, grabs my arm with her free hand, and shoves everyone out the door and onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind us.

"You sure about that?" She asks me. I think I am, though. They're gone during the day, only here at night. They came from somewhere, and there's only one place in this arena no one's really seen, and that's the water.

"90 percent."

"What about the other 10 percent?" Kal demands.

All of us stare off the balcony. Six floors is up isn't a terrible height, but it's still not a reassuring one. We're gonna hit hard, and I don't think any of us are particularly eager to go off first, just in case my ten percent decides to take over.

"There's a ladder right?" Seren ensures. Duke braces his hands at the edge of the balcony and looks over, eyeing the wall of the ship.

"Yeah. Are there usually ladders on a—"

Seren shoves him off the balcony.

The three of us watch as he goes plummeting towards the water, hitting it with a noise I expected but still wince at anyway. It only takes him a few seconds to resurface, but he looks like he doesn't know whether to be terrified or pissed off, neither of which are effective when he's soaking wet.

"My bad!" Seren yells down at him. He gives her the finger. It's so far away you can barely see it.

"I'm going down. He's gonna kill me."

Seren plants a foot on the railing, swinging one of her legs over. I'm beginning to understand why Kal always looks like he's two seconds away from a panic attack.

She jumps, going down only a few feet from where Duke's surfaced. I wait until she pops her head back up to swing myself over.

"Is now a bad time to mention that I can't swim?" Kal manages. He stares at me, half-dangling back off the balcony, and then looks back through the patio door. One of the mutts is in the bedroom. One of them must've gotten caught in the trap, leaving way for the others to get through.

"Yes."

Kal looks down at the water, shaking. He very carefully edges himself over the glass wall, toes standing on the half an inch of balcony that I'm already on. He grips the railing, staring down at his hands like he's trying to will himself to let go.

"Don't make me push you. I'll be right behind you. Go."

He releases one hand. I nod at him and he lets go completely.

He hasn't even hit the water when I jump.

I have even less time to prepare myself for the impact than I thought. Hitting the water at that speed, from that height, is like hitting a slab of concrete. The impact shoots me down so deep I can barely even tell which ways up, the water's so dark I can't even see my hands in front of my face. It's also _freezing_ , a drastic contrast from the warm air, but there's nothing dragging me down or trying to kill me, so I'll take it. Looks like I might've been right about the mutts. Finally something we can trust.

The warm blast of air that hits me when I surface is welcome. Seren and Duke both have a hand on Kal, who's bobbing between them like a buoy, staring upwards. The mutt is on the balcony now, the glass door shattered behind it. It looks down towards the water, making a noise of dissatisfaction, and then stalks back inside.

We all just float there for a moment, staring upwards, waiting. Nothing happens.

"Let's never do this again," Duke says, teeth chattering.

Sounds like a plan.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

"Glenn."

"Hm?"

"You realize it's been 8 hours and we're still stuck in the elevator."

"Has it been that long?"

"You've been asleep for three quarters of it."

He blinks up at me. "Have you been awake this whole time?"

Awake, yes. Doing anything of importance, no. It's not like there's anything to do besides get into a fist fight with the ten thousand buttons on the right side of the door.

"Well. Wake me up if the door opens."

"You are not going to sleep again. _You're_ the one with an axe. Get us out."

Glenn lets out a noise against the floor and hauls himself to his hands and knees, shuffling around until the axe slides out of his belt and thunks against the floor. It's almost painful watching him get up - all he does is take ten minutes to actually get to his feet and then just stand there for an extra few, staring at the door.

"We're not going to get out if you just stare at it."

"You're telling me to get us out of the _metal elevators doors_ with a _fire axe_."

I don't know what's so complicated about me saying that. Maybe there are better ways, maybe there aren't. All I know is I'm looking the most probable idea in the face and even if it doesn't work, at least we'll have tried something. Or Glenn will have. It's funny. I can't imagine being alone. If I had spent the past eight hours in here alone with nothing but the emergency lights for company, I'd probably have gone insane. And Glenn really was sleeping for most of it, but it still made me feel at least a bit better than someone was there. That he trusted me to be there with him.

Finally, I shrug at Glenn. He groans.

It only takes him a few seconds, surprisingly, to hoist the axe up over his shoulder. I'm probably not giving him enough credit; Seven kids are strong more often than not, whether they're younger or older. I guess it just Glenn in general that makes you think the opposite. He's the kind of person you go to for a laugh, not to beat the shit out of someone.

He slams the edge of the axe into the place where the two doors meet. Nothing happens except for a hideous noise when the two meet. He tries it again. The edge of the axe carves lines into the metal, but doesn't do anything to pry it apart.

Glenn raises an eyebrow at me, a very clear _see, I told you so_.

"You did it twice. I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be enough no matter which one of us did it."

"I should've pretended I was still sleeping," Glenn decides, almost deflating.

"Probably."

He raises the axe again just as the overhead lights flicker on, illuminating the elevator once again. I startle for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, like I'm making sure the lights aren't going to turn off again. The number button above the door comes to life again, a stark black '13', and both of us stare at the buttons.

"I'm not blind, right?" Glenn inquires. "There's no 13 on there."

The elevator's thrumming again. It's obviously working, but the door's not opening. Again with letting us make the first move.

"Isn't that stereo-typically a bad number?" Glenn continues, staring suspiciously at the light above the door.

It is. Whether you're superstitious or not, it's not like it's an unknown thing. For all we know, they're putting us here for a reason. For all we know, the second we open the doors they're going to kill us. So we have a choice; press a different button and hope it takes us far far away, or step out and hope for the best. I don't know if hoping for the best is good enough, right now.

I look at Glenn. He doesn't look at me but keeps staring at the number, lips pressed together. Finally, he nods.

I really, really don't want to do it. But I have a feeling if I don't, we're going to be standing here for god knows how many hours, willing the light to go away.

Hesitantly, I push the button to open the doors, almost faltering at the last second. I lean down and grab the baseball bat off the floor, tightening my grip around it, as the creak of the doors takes over any other noise we might be able to hear in the elevator.

The doors slide open. All I can see is darkness.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

I don't know how much longer I can run in circles and pretend I'm happy with what's going on.

The thing is, we're not even running right now. We're just sitting here, holed up and pretending like death isn't marching right past our door every two seconds. Eventually it's going to come walking in, whether we want it to or not.

I'll be the one prepared when it does.

All three of us have killed, but there's only one of us really looking to do it, and that's me. Elias will do it, I'm certain of that. The way Larkin hesitated with the Three girl, looked to both of us for encouragement, says it all. But it also shows that she listens, whether she wants to or not.

Speaking of Larkin, she's finally decided sitting outside and ignoring us shouldn't be her course of action. She still is ignoring us really, or at least me, because Elias is asleep. She's just sitting silently on the couch across the room, picking at the hilt of the knife in her hand. A malicious action, usually, until I see a flake of blood come off and land lightly on the floor at her feet. Like she's trying to get it all off for good.

She'll never be able to. The sooner she accepts that the better.

I get up and drop myself on the couch next to her without warning. To Larkin's credit, she doesn't even move or flinch when I sit down. I think she's just gotten used to me throwing myself everywhere I'm not invited.

"How you doing over here?"

Larkin shrugs, continuing to pick at the knife. "Great."

"Appreciate the sarcasm."

"What do you want me to say, Alana? You know the answer."

"You trained, you're a Career. And Careers have to learn how to be okay."

"I'm not you," Larkin insists. "I'm not Elias."

She continues twisting the knife in her grip. I twist until I'm sitting cross-legged next to her.

"Why'd you pick Elias and not me?"

"What?"

"Right after the bloodbath. As soon as Cerise and Lynn were gone you chose him. His side. Like I didn't exist."

We both know why, but I'm almost convinced she's never going to say it out-loud. She's going to make me do it. For years all I've been is the crazy one; it's not surprising to me that I still am to these people. But the thing is, no one in here is good, unless they lay down their weapons and refuse to fight. But that's being a martyr, and I never planned on dying one anyway.

"I'm the enemy to you, aren't I?" I ask. "You won't admit it, not to my face, but you think Elias is the safer bet. Maybe you're right. But you're also forgetting who got the higher score. Elias is better trained then we'll ever be."

"I'm not turning on him," Larkin snaps. I smile.

"I wasn't suggesting you should. Funny that such a traitorous thought entered your head first, didn't it? Guess you can't play the innocent card forever."

I don't think I've ever seen Larkin angry, until now. I just need her to realize that there are always options. She doesn't have to be the kid from District Ten that got thrust into something she never wanted. She can be a real fighter, someone who doesn't look to others for permission to take a life.

I never asked. I just took. And I'm still here.

"All I'm saying is that this thing is never just black and white. No one's inherently a terrible person. We all have our reasons. I have mine, you have yours. Maybe your District partner would have had his too, if he had gotten that far."

"Guess we'll never know, though, considering you killed him," Larkin says bitterly.

That was mercy. I could've just stopped Oxen, held onto him for hours, made him beg for death before I killed him. But I ended it quickly. A lot quickly than other people would have. But Larkin will never see that like I do.

"All I want you to know is that you aren't the good guy. You gave up that right the second you joined us. Elias can't make you one. The sooner you learn that only villains survive, the better. Maybe you'll actually stand up and take what's yours."

Believe me, when I walked over here, I had no desire to lecture her. It was bound to happen eventually. All I know is that if I'm not going to sit by while everything happens around me, she can't either.

"And what's mine, exactly?" Larkin asks.

"Victory, maybe. If you still want it by the end of all of this. Have fun beating me there, though."

I lean back against the couch. Larkin still clutches tight to the knife, watching my every move. I don't plan on hurting her, though. Not now. Knowing where she is sure does make it easier to figure out what's going to happen though.

All of the plans are falling into place.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

"Is it that bad?"

Judging by the noise Kian makes when Kole even tries to help him sit down, it's that bad.

"Yeah," Kole confirms. "There's nothing we can do, though. Not unless something changes."

Apparently stairs are officially a no-go. Kian can barely talk after a single flight. All that's coming out of his mouth every time he so much as tries is a strangled wheeze, which probably means it's worse than we think. If it keeps continuing like this, I'll be carrying him outright in a few days. We can't stay still for too long, at least not long enough to heal broken ribs, and we won't be able to run much longer.

We're stuck in the middle.

Kole is finally able to lower him onto the edge of an armchair, although Kian still looks like he's about to pass out.

Anywhere we want to go won't happen like this. I can't say to come up with a plan - the last time we tried to come up with a plan, Mireya died. I don't want to put any of us at risk again, but we already are moving like this. Or rather, not moving.

Maybe I should change at my focus. Watching Mireya die was bad enough. I don't want to watch them die too.

Which means whatever I do has to be alone, making it even more stupid than it probably already is.

"Got an idea," I say quietly. "You're not gonna like it though."

Kian looks up at me, clutching at his side. Even sitting there looks painful to him.

"What?" He manages, instantly drawing in a massive breath. Kole's been keeping a hand on him since the first time he stumbled a few hours ago, since we found out if he moves too much he basically loses the ability to talk. She still is.

"We need _something_ to fix you. Or not even fix you. Just to stop it for now."

"Great idea," Kole says simply. "And where do we find something like that?"

"You two aren't finding anything. I will."

It must take the two of them a second. That, or they're turning the idea over in their hands, like if they keep spinning it it'll suddenly make sense.

"No," Kole insists, almost instantly.

"People die in horror movies when they split up," Kian coughs. He winces again. "Just saying."

"Most people in horror movies don't have a mace."

"True. My point still stands though," Kole says. "What are you going to do? Search every room until you find something useful?"

"No. I'm going to do something stupid and it's going to fall out of the sky," I decide.

Every alliance in here, as far as we know, is bigger than a single person. I won't be able to fight a group on my own. But judging by the demonic screeches still coming from outside, the mutts are back and they're still indefinitely pissed. Maybe if I stand up against them they'll reward us. They know what we want. At this point it's just a matter of earning it.

"You can't stop me," I tell them. They're both eerily silent. They never are, around each other. It's unsettling.

"This can't be the only way." Kole's shaking her head, but this might be her admitting defeat. She knows we're screwed at the rate we're going. I'm the one that has the best chance at fixing it without risking them.

"Maybe not. With what's happening we probably won't be around to find out if we don't fix it now."

Kole stands up and wraps her arm around me, squeezing me tight. That alone gives me the hope that I can do this. I drop a hand on Kian's shoulder when she lets go of me. I know he's not going to stand up and hug me, not the he even could, but he looks like he still wants to try.

"I don't want someone else dying for me," Kian says, looking up at me. He knows what this means. What this could mean. I think they'll give us what they want, but there's always the possibility that the Gamemakers turn on me before I even notice it. That I end up dead anyway, and the problem gets worse. Leaving them alone could result in disaster too, but I'm not that far yet. All I can think about is the next few hours, and that this could decide how the next few days go for us.

I thought too far ahead and someone died. I can't imagine myself watching that happen all over again.

Mireya still stings for all of us. But I won't let it happen again.

I won't.

* * *

Happy 100k to whoever's still here. A not as happy moment to pretty much everything that happened in this chapter.

Arella's death happened in a lot of different ways and in a lot of different spots but she eventually ended up here. I'm really not great with the whole obituary business, mostly because I'm thinking I'll try to write all of these guys something like I did with everyone in FoB, but yeah. Big apologies to Arella. Big apologies to everyone, really, because I haven't said it enough.

The poll results are up, if anyone wants to check those out. You guys have serious issues with liking entire alliances and in turn wanting me to keep them alive as long as possible even though it will inevitably crush you in the end. Can't say I blame you guys though; I'm just saying it's no fault of mine when everyone's in pain again.

Big thanks to CreativeAJL, Spaceman, Laenyra, CountySweetHeart, and Metallic Shadow10 for your reviews, you guys are the real MVPs of this story.

Until next time.


	24. Only Villains Survive

Arena, Day Four.

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

I'm surprised we've lasted this long.

Four days is no feat to most people, but it is to us. Considering we lost almost half the group on the first day, I'm surprised we stayed together at all. But Larkin wanted the safety, to prove herself, and Alana's too stubborn to walk away when she's given a challenge. It's why she walked up to Cerise in the first place.

I wonder if it'd be any better if Lynn and Cerise _had_ survived. Maybe it would have been. Progress would've been a lot faster, that I can almost guarantee. There are Games that have ended in four days, and we only have eight people gone from ours in the same length of time.

It could be any of us next. That's what I'm getting from this.

The weird thing is, I'm not scared. Maybe I should be, especially after what I saw in the bloodbath. That only further reiterates that it could happen any second, before any of us have the chance to see it coming. I don't even know why I'm not scared. Maybe it's because it feels too quiet.

Well, almost too quiet.

Alana's been digging through the closet for a bit now, probably looking for something to replace her blood-stained coat. I'm surprised she doesn't want to keep wearing it; intimidate her enemies and all that. She's been doing it for long enough that I'm surprised she hasn't found something. It might have something to do with the way Larkin's been watching her like a hawk.

 _Something_ must have happened while I was asleep.

I don't know if I even want to know.

To be honest, I kind of expected the catty girl fights. The other part of me had sincerely hoped we were all mature and old enough to be past that point in our lives, but the second I met Cerise and Alana I threw all premise of that out the window. That's what I signed up for, allying with four girls, only I expected it to slow down after the bloodbath. I definitely didn't expect Larkin to be involved.

Alana finally finds a new coat, black in colour, and shrugs it on. She rolls up her old one and tucks it inside her backpack, hauling it over her shoulder.

"I wanna go back to the Cornucopia," she announces. The absence of one tomahawk, even though she had two, is apparently unsettling. Personally, I like her better with one. She can't throw it at both of us if she decides to snap.

I'm not going to fight her on it. "Need more food anyway."

She looks slightly surprised, but takes off for the door. Not like I expected her to wait for us anyway. By the time Larkin and I get out into the hallway she's already gone. No doubt headed for the stairs.

"Elias," Larkin says quietly. I look back at her. She's staring past my shoulder, the way Alana went. I raise my eyebrows.

"I'm just worried she's gonna pull something."

"I've been worried about that since the second I met her," I point out. "Believe me, if and when she does, we'll—"

The lights flicker out.

"Figure it out?" I finish hesitantly. The last of the overhead lights goes dark at the end of the hallway, leaving us in pitch blackness. There's no windows, nothing to see. I hold my hand out and let it brush against the wall, blinking frantically. I really can't see anything.

"Elias?" Larkin asks, like she's afraid I won't answer. She steps forward until her hand brushes against my back.

"Just stay close," I respond. Not like she wasn't planning on it anyway, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

I don't know if following the direction Alana went is even the smart move. For all we know, she's frozen in a hallway just like us, wondering what just happened. But my gut's telling me she isn't.

The next hallway is completely empty. The stairs are at the end, that I know, but I can't see them for shit. The only thing I can see is sparks flying into the air from the wall at the end. They disappear before they even get to the floor, but they illuminate just enough for me to see.

The gray fuse-box I remember seeing on the way up here is smashed to shit, buttons crushed and wires slashed. Not accidentally. Someone but a weapon through it, someone who probably has a tomahawk and is extremely bored.

I should have known better than to let Alana go anywhere alone.

We're in the middle of three hallways, the staircase at my back. And I still can't see anything.

"What do we—"

Larkin's voice is cut off with a scream, startlingly close to my ear. I feel her get ripped away from my back rather than see it, hear the noise of her careening down the stairs behind us. There's no cannon. No other noise.

I don't move.

"Better pick the right direction," Alana's voice calls out. "Or this is gonna end quicker than I thought."

I whip my head around to look down one of the hallways. Nothing. Down the other. There's nothing there either. Then why can I hear her voice from every direction?

"This is your solution?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. Larkin's not dead, but she's probably unconscious, which means it's me against the Gamemaker's token psycho. "Killing us first?"

The one point difference in our scores would help my confidence level by miles if I even knew which direction she was.

There's something like a chuckle, and I still can't tell what way it's coming from. She could be five feet behind me and I wouldn't even know it. She had to have come up behind us originally, to get to Larkin, but now? She could be anywhere. That's the worst part.

"Who said anything about killing? You place so little faith in me. It's wounding. Almost."

I take a breath. "Then what do you want?"

This is the exact thing I'm not supposed to be afraid of. But it's the one thing they don't know how to train us for. They can only do so much for us mentally, and Alana's taking it all down in a matter of seconds.

"I want you to run."

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

It went all wrong.

I don't know where to go from here. There never should have been a point where I didn't know what to do next. I just didn't think something could go this badly.

If I hadn't done what I did we would have all died. But I never meant for Sinora to make the choice, to have to make sure one of her allies died over the other. I never thought she'd pick _me_.

Then again, did she really have the choice? I doubt she could have pulled Arella up without my help, and I don't know if I would have if she asked.

Sinora won't sleep. She's sitting at the edge of the bed in another room we found - bigger than the first, but basically the same. The vacant look in her eyes is beginning to worry me. At first I just attributed it to the fact that yeah, she just directly helped me throw Arella to her death. Now that it's been several hours, it's scary.

I don't know if I got her off the floor of the balcony or if it was the other way around. Things don't faze me easily, or at least I didn't think they did. Sinora was the same way, kind of. We're the type of girls that didn't get scared easily unless it was serious.

Until now.

Carefully, I sit down next to her on the bed. I half-expect her to snap, to tell me to leave.

"Are you even sorry?" Sinora asks, weakly. She's staring at the floor now. It's only slighter better than her staring blankly into space.

Am I sorry? I'm alive and so is she because one sacrifice was enough for them. As long as I made one move we didn't all have to die.

"She had a fiancée," Sinora continues. "And a family, and she didn't deserve it, there's no way whatever animosity you guys had before deserved that."

Arella and I were never friends, it's not like it was a secret. Throwing her off in her injured state was supposed to be better than just killing her with my bare hands. It would have been, if she hadn't tried to drag me off, if she hadn't forced Sinora to intervene.

"I have a family too," I say calmly. "And a life to go back to. So do you. I'm sorry that she just lost that. But I'm not sorry for wanting to survive."

What I thought were almost tears in Sinora's eyes just looks like anger. But not at me. At herself.

"I thought it could be different in here," she whispers. "That I could stop betraying my own people. And here we are."

I grab her hand off her knee, squeezing tight. "I _am_ sorry that you had to help me. That you had to choose. Because I know you would have chosen her if you had the chance."

Sinora shakes her head, but doesn't let go of my hand. It's funny, how even that feels like two steps backwards. She was never the type of person to use other people to hold herself up. Maybe it's just something we both need right now.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Sinora explains. "But even you know I never would have killed her."

I did know that. That's why when she grabbed onto me, when she made Arella let go, I was shocked. More shocked than I can ever remember feeling in my life.

"Maybe it was for the best."

I can't help but look at Sinora, slightly stunned yet again. She's still staring at the floor, but her fingers are locked in mine like she needs to know I'm still here. That she still wants me here.

"I'm sorry," I find myself saying yet again. I imagined it happening numerous times, that moment where we perhaps found our strength or lost it. The Kinnon who lived in Nine, the one who never said sorry, the one who left people in the dust, maybe she'd be disappointed in me.

But the one that exists now, I can live with. Maybe she's the one I just needed to find, the one that I should have became a long time ago.

Now that I've found it I'm not letting it go.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

"I can't see anything."

"Yeah, no shit, I'm standing ten feet away from you and I can't either."

I blink. Abel was right next to me a second ago. How did he get so far already? I shuffle after him, holding out my one hand. The one conveniently not holding the axe. Somehow I don't think stabbing him is the way to go about this.

"Can you see anything?" I ask quietly.

"You're even closer to me now. Can you see anything?"

No. Fair enough, I guess. The rectangle of light pouring out of the elevator only extended so far, and about ten minutes ago the light went out entirely, leaving us in complete darkness. Neither of us were particularly eager to step out of the elevator after that. The thing is, now that the power is presumably out, we're definitely not going anywhere and have no choice but to search.

Abel takes a few steps away from me again and there's a series of clatters against the floor. He swears, taking a step back towards me. I think. All I can see is the vaguest shape of him, bending towards the floor.

"What is it?"

"I think," Abel says slowly, like he isn't quite convinced. "I think they're bones?"

"You said that _way_ too calmly."

Abel rises to his feet; again, I'm mostly guessing with what he's actually doing. I still don't know what's really going on until he turns back to me, so close I have no choice but to see him, and shoves something at my chest.

I look down. It's definitely a bone, which is weird. It's about the size of my forearm, smooth and almost perfectly white. Picked clean.

"There's more," Abel explains. "Don't ask me why."

I don't think I even want to know why there's bones everywhere. Things never go right when thirteen is involved, that's been proven, but now it's just getting extra creepy. Maybe it's because they've ramped up the horror element even more. It doesn't help that the power is almost certainly off, meaning the elevator won't take us away even if we want to.

Normally, I like exploring. Right now? Not so much.

"I'm going this way. You coming or no?"

"I, uh, no, I'll go the other way," I manage. Abel doesn't sound scared in the slightest. That, or he's doing a fantastic job of hiding it. I don't want to be the one that refuses to go walking the opposite way of him simply because I'm terrified. Even though I am. Which I'm pretty sure Abel knows by now anyway.

Abel starts walking again, more bones clattering under his feet. I take a hesitant few steps in the other direction. It only takes a few more to take me to where the bones scattered across the ground must begin. I can feel one, smaller, under my feet. I start kicking out, hearing them scatter away from me as I scuff my feet across the ground. Hopefully I'm clearing a path large enough to actually walk through without falling.

"There's hundreds of them," I mutter.

"More like thousands," Abel responds. He's already a lot further away than I thought. "If I go any further I'm gonna be up to my knees in them."

Okay, now I _really_ think we need to leave. If only we could.

My foot finally brushes against something other than bone or floor, something more solid than anything I've come across. Slowly, I bend down, hand outstretched, trying to feel for what it is. The first thing my hands grasp is fabric, but judging by the wetness at my fingertips, it's the opposite of good.

I know the feeling of blood on my hands, even if I haven't killed anyone.

I can't be scared. I can't. I've spent enough time being scared. I reach out again. There's cool skin against mine, but it feels more human than whatever type of mutts are out there. The blood is still warm, the copper tang strong in the air even though I shouldn't be able to smell it. It's so strong it's a miracle neither of us didn't notice it before.

Now that I can focus, I can feel my boots almost sinking into the ground. The ground's not moving, though. It's just more blood, spread out all across the ground around me whenever I shuffle my feet. It must've all come from the body in front of me. That's what it is - a body. I can't ignore that. It certainly doesn't help my terror at all. If it's all bones and bodies, then is this where they take their victims?

"Hey, look what I found."

I flinch at Abel's voice, my hand still covered in blood. I squint in the direction I heard his voice and then get practically blinded as a pillar of light shines directly in my face. I blink frantically, mostly recognizing that Abel found a flashlight, but it's hard to be grateful when I can't see at all anyway.

I keep my eyes clenched shut until the spots stop blinking on and off in my vision, only opening them once I'm convinced I can see again.

"Helpful. Blind me, why don't you."

Abel doesn't respond. He's staring at me in horror, or maybe he's staring at what's in front of me. I don't really get a chance to figure out what he's looking at, though, because when I finally look down at what's actually in front of me my brain all but short circuits.

It's definitely a body, but it's so mangled and bloody it's impossible to even tell who it is. There's barely even anything left to make it register as human. There are fingers gone, cuts so deep you can see the shards of bone in them, limbs mangled until they're half gone.

There shouldn't be any way to tell who it is, or who it's supposed to be, except the coat that's almost entirely gone, shredded to pieces. The coat that's the exact same shade of deep green as mine.

Oh, fuck.

I'm scrambling backwards before my brain even really processes it and Abel's scrambling towards me, grabbing both my arms and yanking me to my feet. I just let him drag me up and away, presumably back towards the elevator, except now that the flashlight's waving wildly in his hand I can't really see where we're going.

"That's, that's—"

"It's not her, Glenn. It's not Arella. It can't be."

We're definitely back in the elevator now. Abel steadies the flashlight, turning me until I can't see anything in the room.

"There— there was a cannon last night, though, and we didn't see it because we were stuck in the f-fucking elevator, it could've been her, we don't—"

"Even if it _was_ her cannon," Abel says calmly, flattening his hands on my shoulders. "That's not her in there. They'd have to bring her body back to Seven. They're just screwing with you."

And Gamemakers don't screw with us half-heartedly. What if that is her, in there? What if they don't care? There's a reason tributes have closed casket funerals; no one ever wants to see what happened in there first-hand. What if they let those mutts drag her up here because they don't care about us?

What if it's just going to happen to us too?

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

The fact that this boat has a nursery and that it's also eerily dark is extraordinarily creepy.

I spent about five minutes in there, just trying to see if there was anything of use, before I wanted out. Rover, much to my surprise, looks fine. Maybe a nursery isn't that bad after you've seen a sword go through someone's face. To me, it's worse. At least I had control over the sword thing. This not so much.

I gently close the door to the nursery. Even making too much noise right now feels off. Rover's just as silent as I am, moving towards the open room at the end of the hall. He's still got a hold of the knife, much to my surprise, and hasn't even tried to give it back to me. I'm still waiting for him to try.

The open room turns out to be filled with computers, like one of those big fancy web centers they have in the Capitol. It doesn't look as high-tech, though; it's just filled with big armchairs and wooden desks. Like this is a place people would come to relax.

Funny joke.

The screen in the far right corner is emitting a bright blue glow, the only source of light in the room. It should be off, obviously, everything in here is. I let myself fall into the chair in front of it. The screen is just like I thought, a deep blue, with a line of code across the top. I press a few buttons on the keyboard, hitting random ones until the screen changes.

Rover appears at my shoulder, glancing down at the screen as it goes black and then lights up again, this time with something that almost looks like a map of this place. It's a lot simpler than the paper copies you can find in pretty much any of the rooms, but the difference is this one has small, circular blinking lights scattered all across it.

Right at the end of what I think is the fourteenth floor there are two barely-there, blinking navy dots.

"That's us?" Rover asks, but it sounds more like he's confirming what he already knows. He's lucky it's so silent in here; with how quietly he's been talking lately it's a miracle I can even hear him.

"Yeah," I respond. "Which means the other fourteen are the rest of them. I don't suppose you took the time to memorize everyone's colours?"

"Nope. And there's only twelve."

I blink at the screen. Huh. He's right. Last time I checked, there were sixteen of us left. Right? Including us, there's only 14 blinking dots. There's a group of four, clustered on the second floor, probably some of the Careers. Besides that there's a pair on the fourth and ninth, a lone dot moving on the seventh, and three dots scattered across the eleventh floor.

No one particularly close to us, at least. I _really_ should have spent more time looking at everyone's coats.

There's still the question of the two that are missing. Are they somehow off the grid? In the water? It's not like the map is going to tell us. And if one of the Career packs is near the bottom, then where is the other? Or have they already fallen apart?

"Any idea who's missing?" I ask Rover, peering over my shoulder at him. He's staring at the little map, like if he looks at it long enough he'll figure it out. He looks at me sheepishly.

"No. Sorry."

"Don't worry," I assure him. "I haven't got the faintest fucking clue either."

What I do know is that we were apparently right to leave the infirmary when we did, because the Careers down there are going to find it soon. We'd have been screwed if they'd found us in there too.

We can't stay here forever, watching to see who's coming closer. But at least this map lets me know it's okay to sit, for a minute, to not worry about how close Rover is to me or if he'll act if we get attacked. It's exhausting. I thought he was a shield, but he's crumbling fast. Sitting here, I can admit that I don't know if he'll still jump in front of me if it comes to that. I don't know if he'll be able to save me.

I was prepared to save myself, coming in here. After all, everyone knows in Eight not to screw with me, not to look at me too long or talk to me if I look like I'm in a particular mood. People have gotten broken noses for trying.

Rover continues staring at the map, his chin almost hooked over my shoulder. There's a flicker of doubt in me that's saying I don't want him to throw himself in front of me. I don't _need_ a shield. I've never needed one before. I want him to fight. I want him to survive because he thinks he deserves it.

The scariest part is I don't know when I started caring.

* * *

 **Kian Harvey, 15 years, District Five Male**

* * *

I don't know what I'll do if Larz gets himself killed for me.

There's no way there will be a point to surviving, if he does. First Mireya and then him and no doubt Kole won't leave me, not until the final moment. All that guilt would kill me eventually anyway. I don't know how the victors do it.

And here I was initially, thinking I wouldn't be able to trust anyone, and now my life might be in someone else's hands.

It does hurt. A lot. Even more than I thought it would initially. But that doesn't mean I wanted one of my allies out there alone risking their life to potentially help me. There's no guarantee it'll even work. There's no guarantee there's even a solution.

Larz has been gone for hours. He should be back by now.

"He should be back by now," I repeat aloud. Kole doesn't even break stride from where she's been making random circles around the room for the past few hours. The pacing really isn't helping.

"He's been gone for maybe three hours."

"Exactly. So shouldn't he have figured it out by now?"

Three hours really isn't that long. Knowing that he isn't dead is helping; there's been no cannon, but he still could be half-dead or injured or just in a general state of panic. He doesn't have anyone to watch his back. Ideally, Kole should have gone with him and left me behind. That's what I wanted. I also know there's no way either of them would agree to it, so I stayed sitting and kept my mouth shut.

"He didn't even really know what he was doing," Kole points out. She's still pacing. "It might take him a bit to figure it out."

He said himself taking on the mutts might be his best bet. But they're gone during the day, so what is Larz doing? Wandering around and hoping for a better opportunity, maybe. He can handle himself against anyone, that I know, but not an entire alliance.

Kole really should have gone with him.

She sits down next to me unceremoniously but still careful, trying not to jostle me in the slightest. It's still hard to breathe. Hell, it's hard to drink and eat too. I can't close my eyes long enough to sleep either, which leaves no option but for me to sit in perfect stillness for the next foreseeable amount of hours.

"What if he doesn't come back?"

Kole looks at me slowly, like she hadn't really considered that as an option. I don't want to think of it that way either, but just as expected it's all I can think about. We're screwed if Larz doesn't come back, or at least I am. Kole could probably make it on her own, but not dragging me around. I don't want to be dragged around. She might as well put me out of the years I've misery I've endured.

I know Kole and Larz have both gone through shit. Shit that's arguably a lot worse than anything I went through. Frankly, we're just a mess of emotions and past things we don't want to remember.

"He's going to come back," Kole assures me. "If it was anyone else, I wouldn't be so sure. If he'll fight Alana twice he'll fight anything."

Which is precisely what I'm afraid of. Larz doesn't seem to be the type to leap into every dangerous situation he's presented with, but we're all full of surprises. Mine just happened to be getting injured five minutes into the Games.

I try to adjust my shoulders, which results in me hissing in pain for what feels like forever. Kole can do nothing but sit and watch until it stops hurting.

If Larz comes back, if something falls out of the sky for us that will help me, then it'll be worth it. Our track record hasn't been the greatest since we got in here, but this has to be the moment one of us finally succeeds.

There's no other alternative. There can't be.

I thought things back in Five were bad. Getting tormented, getting ridiculed, being an asshole because it was the only way to cope with it all. I thought that was as bad as it could get for me, that I had finally found my own personal hell and was being forced to live in it.

Looks like I was wrong. Because this hell is worse.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

I open my eyes.

There's nothing but darkness above me. I don't even know what's going on. I'm lying flat on my back, staring up into nothing.

The last thing I remember is a hand on my back, another grabbing my hair in a vice tight grip, and a stair railing I could barely see just before my head collided with it.

That's probably why my nose hurts so much. It might be broken. There's certainly enough blood to warrant it being broken.

My head's still ringing a bit, a dull headache clinging to the back of my skull, but I don't have to be a genius to figure out that Alana just turned on us. In the process, she also decided she was going to throw me down the stairs.

I lie completely still in the dark for a moment, waiting to see if I hear anything. There's no noise, coming from either above or below me. Hesitantly I reach down and feel for my belt. My machete's still there. All the knives are still in my jacket. Even my backpack is crushed underneath me, still full of supplies from what I can feel.

I look back up the stairs.

Elias is gone.

Well. That can't be good.

I don't even bother rising to my feet; I half-crawl back up the stairs, stopping just before the top to listen for anything again. I only rise to my feet, using the very same bannister as support, when I realize no one's here.

What I should do is go back down the stairs and away from whatever happened. But I stay in front of the three hallways until my eyes adjust the slightest. There's a hole in the plaster the size of a fist in the hall to my right. I'm going to go with that one then. Probably not the smart move, but the most likely one I'll find answers in. If Alana wanted me dead, she'd have killed me. I'm still here.

Unless there was a cannon while I was out, Elias still is too.

I head down the hallway, trying to look confident. It's hard when there's no one backing me up or to tell me I'm doing an alright job.

Any chance of me having any confidence disappears when I turn the next corner and there are bloody hand-prints on the wall.

There's at least three, maybe more. It's still hard to see. But there's blood running down the walls and spattered across the carpet on the floor. I take the machete out of my belt, pointing it in the direction the blood's leading.

There's more blood the further I go, and that's just what I can see. No doubt there's more hidden in the shadows that cling to the walls, or in the corners of the halls I'm not venturing into. Whatever happened, there was a significant amount of damage. I already killed someone, so it doesn't make me any more of a terrible person than I already am to hope, somehow, that Elias managed to kill Alana.

Do I think it happened like this? No. But I can hope.

I can't have been walking for long, but the trail of blood stops. Here it turns into what's basically a pool, the edges of it almost touching my boots. It's almost black in the lack of light, but it's still fresh. I take a step into it, trying to think of it like a puddle in one of Ten's back alleys. It's really not helping, not when I can hear the sticky slap of my soles hitting it every time I take a step forward.

I see a hand lying in the pool of blood before anything else, fingers twitching, almost like it's reaching towards me. It doesn't take me long after that to realize that the coat, almost shredded to pieces, is blue instead of black. Or at least it used to be.

It's not Alana.

I drop down to my knees in a panic, reaching forward blindly in the dark. It's not Alana, it's Elias, and there's so much blood there's no way he can be alive, no way he should be.

He stirs the second I get a hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. He's alive, but it doesn't make sense. I can barely feel anything. There's blood soaking through the knees of my pants. I don't even have to see perfectly to know that she tore him to shreds. From what I can tell most of the blood is coming from his stomach, no doubt thanks to the tomahawk, and his arm. He's lucky his arm is even still attached to his shoulder. The wound's so deep and the blood's so congealed it's hard to even make out how bad it is.

Elias is staring at me, or at least trying to. There's blood crusted around his eyes, cuts lacerating his face.

I don't know what to do.

Elias tries to say something but nothing comes out, just a trickle of blood from between his lips.

"It's okay, it's okay," I say quickly. "I'll fix this, you're okay, you're okay."

How the fuck do I fix this?

Elias shakes his head. "S-she, she, f-fuck, _I can't_."

"It's okay," I repeat. "We're getting out of here, okay, I'll fix this, we'll fix this."

I don't know what else to say. Is there anything even appropriate to say, in this situation? Very carefully I get an arm around his less injured side, which isn't saying much, but it's a start. He almost blacks out, more times than I can count, by the time I get him sitting up against the wall. Now that my eyes are adjusting it's even worse. His stomach's completely torn apart. Most of him is, really.

He's still alive, though. I don't know whether it's because he's too stubborn to die or because Alana didn't want him to.

No matter what happened, I have to take it for what it is.

I have to figure something out.

* * *

It's no fun unless you've got someone who's at least slightly psychotic.

Which isn't funny. Really. But it's true.

First things first, no update next week, unfortunately. Twist has to live once in a while and get out of the house, but I will be back the week after. Catch up and stuff, if you haven't. That wasn't subtle. Catch up, assholes.

Someone should give me an updated final 8 prediction because I've been majorly screwing over the ideas of almost everyone who's spit them at me, so. I like predictions, okay. Give me random ones if you want. I just wanna know and I love reading what you guys think is going to happen so I can sit back and smile about it all. And totally not laugh.

Until next time.


	25. Remember Who You Are

Arena, Night Four.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

The royal promenade is a pretty place.

That's the technical term for it, obviously. To me it's just a big, wide-open space lined with shops and restaurants and booths. It'd probably be even nicer if it was all lit up, but I guess I'll have to settle for stumbling around. I'd rather say that I'm looking for something a little less purposefully than I normally would instead of stumbling. I do technically know where I'm going.

Mostly.

A note fell out of the sky a few hours ago, attached to a silver parachute. All it read was ' _Fifth Floor. You'll know when you see it_.'

It wasn't signed, either. I don't think either of our mentors were particularly inclined to help me, and even less so now, which means it's someone higher up. Of course they're enjoying this. No one from the Districts has to. I didn't volunteer for them, I volunteered to get away from them. Whether they approve or not.

By 'see it' I hope they realize that the power clearly has no plans of coming back on it's own. Whatever I'm supposed to see, it better be pretty damn obvious. For all I know it could be five feet in front of my face and I won't even realize it.

I pass a booth in the middle of the avenue laden with jewelry. Nothing particularly interesting there. There's a restaurant off to the left, but I have enough food.

So what is it?

I'm almost completely to the end of the walk when a blinking red light in the far corner catches my attention. It's completely dark around it.

On first glance it looks pretty simple. It's a curved wooden desk, the front of it lined with glass shelving and brochures with fancy island pictures on them. There's a few loose pens lying on top of it. Just looks like an information desk. Where people would go to get help. I always appreciate a little help.

I fall into the rolling chair behind the desk, letting it go until I'm in front of the blinking red light. It's located next to a series of switches, and then a microphone. Lying next to it, conveniently, is a brand new tomahawk. There were no others back at the Cornucopia; I even went back and checked.

Someone in the Gamemaking room is being generous tonight. I smile.

I unwrap the parachute from it and pick it up, still smiling. It's much nicer than the one I currently have, and shinier too. Then again, the one I already have is more covered in Elias' blood than not. I thought it may have been a better fight. Then again, the element of surprise may have helped me a bit more than I expected. Elias didn't run away like I expected, but towards me, somehow.

Of course, that only enabled him to punch a hole in the wall when he meant to hit me, and that meant giving me an extra few seconds to rip the spear off his back and stab him with it.

Not too deep, obviously. That wouldn't have been any fun. Just a little in the side, enough to make him stumble, falter, and reconsider. He hadn't expected me to be quick enough to dodge and get behind him. I got him to the end of the hallway before I decided enough was enough, and by then he didn't see the tomahawk coming.

It would have taken his arm off entirely if he hadn't twisted at the last second. I'm surprised he even bothered fighting. But he grabbed the tomahawk's blade with his free hand and stopped me from doing it.

Which only ended in the torture getting worse, which he probably wasn't aware of. If he'd just let me take his arm I might have stopped.

I only backed him down two more hallways. He was stumbling, by then. There were cuts in his legs and his arm was useless and I finally got the tomahawk in his stomach, again and again, just enough to hurt but not enough to kill.

He's resilient, I'll give him that. He's been lying there for hours, unless Larkin got to him, and he's still alive. I left him his sickle and a knife, just in case he was still there when the mutts came crawling out. They'd have killed him by now. Somehow he's gone. That was the more preferable option, surprisingly. Now I need him to go running to the only people left in this arena who might not kill him. I need Elias to tell them that I'm going to do the same to them, one by one.

I'll let Larkin help, if she's with him. Maybe she'll accept to save her own skin. If they find the others, I think I'll go with Duke first, just so Elias can watch as I chop him into pieces. Maybe I'll kill him after that. He'll probably want to die by then anyway.

Seren will have to be next, just to watch Kal scream. I doubt Meritt will sit there and watch it, though. On the other hand, maybe he can live too. I still haven't figured him out, and I'm not letting him go until I do. Who knows, maybe he's the type to accept an offer when he's given one. Maybe he's already that person.

I don't know how long I'll have to drag out Kal's death for it to be truly enjoyable. Days, probably. I'm not letting him die until he begs for me to do it. I could leave him alone, after that. The mutts will smell the blood and finish it for me.

Now that's what the Capitol wants to see.

I run my finger over the red light. It's on, despite the power outage. It seems that only the things they want us to see are still working.

Flipping the switch up, I pick up the microphone. Sure enough, a hum starts up the second it flicks on, the light changing to a solid, unblinking green. I tap a finger against the microphone experimentally. The noise reverberates down the promenade, no doubt everywhere on the ship. They wouldn't lead me here unless I could use it.

I just can't stop smiling.

"Attention, attention."

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

"Someone was definitely in here."

"Are you saying that because the cupboards are empty or because of the giant blood splatter on the floor?"

Well, Kal does have a point. It's not hard to tell the infirmary was raided. The cupboards are devoid of pretty much anything useful. The only things left are the occasional bottle of medication with a name that I don't even recognize or a package of band-aids the size of my finger. Whoever came through here knew what was useful and took it all.

The blood everywhere is still unsettling, as are the tears in the plaster where there was obviously a mutt crawling. I think they're going easy on us tonight because we could have drowned yesterday trying to escape them. Which I still haven't forgiven Seren for, but the issues we're probably going to face soon are bigger than that.

Someone sighs. It's so heavy it sounds like it was all of us simultaneously. We were hoping we could find something useful. Sure, we have first-aid supplies, but nothing extensive.

There's yet another screech from outside. They've been far enough away, but they sound like they're getting closer.

"We should probably go before they decide to invade," Seren says, completely echoing my thoughts. There's no point in staying here anyway.

Seren makes Meritt go first; he's pretty much the only one willing to anyway. He steps carefully out into the hallway while Kal finishes closing up the last of the cupboards behind me.

"We've got a problem."

Seren has stepped out into the hallway with Meritt, both of them staring mostly vacantly towards one end of the hall. Both of them are pretty unreadable.

"Well, it can't be that big of a problem if you're moving and talking," Kal insists, shoving past me and out the door. "Unless— oh, shit. Found your boyfriend, Duke."

My first thought is to tell him to shut the fuck up or I'm going to smother him. The only thing is, though, where Seren and Meritt looked unreadable, Kal looks genuinely concerned and not like someone who's afraid of getting his ass kicked by Elias.

I peek out into the hallway, barely visible.

The _oh shit_ was an underestimation.

It's a good thing someone else confirmed it was Elias, because it looks so bad I wouldn't have even been sure. He is indeed at the other end of the hall, being held up almost completely by Larkin, who looks to be pretty healthily covered in his blood.

Alana's nowhere in sight. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened.

"So what's the plan?" Meritt asks quietly.

I take off towards them without hesitation.

"That was a dumb fucking question," Kal mutters. Someone hits him. I don't turn around to see who.

Larkin panics the second I get close to them, like she thinks I'm dead-set on attacking them or finishing off whatever Alana started. There's nowhere for her to go, though. She can't back-pedal away from me without making things worse.

I reach out for Elias and she seems to understand that I'm trying to help pretty quickly. She very carefully lets go of him until I'm holding onto most of his weight. Larkin has to practically peel her arm away from his back, there's so much blood everywhere.

"Hey, give me his other arm."

Seren's on my other side, trying to help as best she can. I should have at least given them a choice about helping, but it doesn't seem like Seren's going to try and make me stop. Sue me for wanting to. I wasn't going to just stand there and watch. Kal's got a hand on Larkin's trembling arm, trying to smile and look comforting while completely ignoring the mess that's going on a foot away.

Meritt's standing behind, just watching. Probably the smart move. It wouldn't shock me if Elias, even in his half-conscious state, tried to beat the shit out of him for Lynn.

To my surprise, though, he is conscious. The second Seren manages to get around his other side he at least makes an effort to try and look at me. One that fails miserably, but it's the thought that counts.

"We— I just thought the infirmary might have something," Larkin trails off weakly. She's already tore her coat to pieces to try and stifle some of the bleeding, but it doesn't look like it's doing much.

"Someone's already gone through it." Kal tries to look reassuring, but judging by whatever Larkin's gone through in the past few hours, it's gonna take more than that.

"I told him we'd fix this," Larkin says under her breath. Elias still stirs, though, trying to straighten himself the slightest.

"'m fine," Elias mumbles, although it doesn't sound much like that.

"Shut up," I snap at him without thinking, way too harsh for someone who's probably dying. I really don't want to think about the fact that he could be dying as we speak. Elias honest to god tries to smile, even though he can barely keep his eyes open when he looks at me.

"F-Fuck you."

"Okay, I deserved that," I agree. "Now shut up."

Is there any fixing this? Judging by the looks everyone's sharing, there really isn't. With just Larkin, there'd be no saving him. But there's so many of us, now, even if we aren't allies. There has to be a solution _somewhere_.

If there's really no way to fix this, then it's just reaffirming how fucked we really are.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

Erna's asleep.

She hasn't been so keen to leave me up alone lately. Usually she would wait until I fell asleep. She always woke up before me too. It's like I'm on a permanent watch.

I guess I'm kind of used to it. Marcos did the same thing in Eight. I guess that's what you get, when a doctor basically adopts you. I'm still not used to it, though. I don't like people constantly worrying about me. I need to stop crying, to stop panicking. Erna can't protect herself if she's too worry about me.

I helped her barricade the door before she fell asleep. The only things that haven't been tipped over are a few of the chairs, and the desk and computer that we need. It'll be a pain getting out, when we want to, but it's better than whatever's out there.

There was a notebook and pen in the desk we left standing.

Not much has changed on the map. There are still two people missing. Two of the scattered dots on the eleventh floor are back together and have moved to the second, where the Careers are. So far, none of them have disappeared, which means they're not killing each other.

It's weird, if you ask me.

The third dot on the eleventh is now on the fifth, which seems to be the main floor out of all of them. All of the other dots are still on the same floors they were before.

Now that I have a notebook, I can try and keep track of it all. Maybe, when Erna wakes up, I'll have accomplished something. It'll definitely make me feel better. So far I've done nothing but intervene when I apparently shouldn't and stand in the way of Erna getting things done.

The only colour coat that I really know is the Eleven's, and that's all because of Magne. I think about what happened every time I remember the wound on my neck.

His was green. Light green. Not a colour you saw often in Eight, unless it was in one of the windows of those expensive shops in the Town Square. Some of the walls in the hospital were painted that colour too. Supposed to be soothing. That's what Marcos always said.

If Magne's was green, that means the Eleven girl is one of the people on the fourth floor, with whatever one of her allies is still left. We haven't been seeing much of the anthem lately, not unless we go outside. They're probably doing it on purpose; not letting us know who's dead and who's alive makes things more interesting.

It still doesn't explain who's missing.

"Go to sleep, would you?"

I almost jump. Almost. I've managed to reign in the urge to flinch when Erna speaks out of nowhere. She does it so often I think I've almost gotten used to it.

She's staring at me with one eye open. Her back's propped up against one of the few remaining armchairs; she doesn't look anywhere near comfortable. I wish I could sleep as easy as her. Nothing effects her the way it does me.

"I'm just trying to figure all of these out. The gray's were the Sixes, right?"

Erna squints, like she's trying to force the memory of seeing them four days ago back into her brain. "Think so."

So that's another two people down. One of them's on the fifth, one on the second. Though the group down there is looking to be heading up to the floor above. It's slow moving progress.

I try to go back to the bloodbath. That enough makes me want to stop. I remember the panic when I saw the tiniest kid here die, his neck snapped like a twig. And then Magne getting stabbed, Erna stopping me from going to him so she could do it herself.

I'm so busy thinking about it that I don't even notice Erna practically drag herself across the floor towards me. She plucks the pen out of my hand and shoves it in-between the pages of the book, and then takes that too. I watch her shuffle back to her previous spot, clutching the book tight against her chest.

"Go to sleep," she emphasizes once again. "It'll still be here in the morning."

I grab my knife, lying on the ground next to me. It's like I need something to hold onto at all times, and when it's not Erna's jacket or a pen or a notebook, it's the knife.

There are so many things that scare me, so I might as well add that to the list. I don't know when the thing I reached for became a weapon. Maybe it's because Erna's changed me, or maybe watching Magne die did too.

I hear a sigh, snapping my eyes back to Erna. She's let the notebook slide to the ground but she's staring at me fully, now, just watching.

"You're not going to sleep, are you?"

"Probably not."

Another sigh. She closes her eyes and rolls over onto her side, facing the other wall. Very obviously not facing me, like she's admitted defeat. That's something she's never done before. She always forces the issue until I listen.

"Wake me up if something interesting happens."

"I will," I respond quietly. Erna lifts her arm and gives me a thumbs up before letting it flop back to the ground.

Maybe I'm not the only one who's changing.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

I finally finish shoving the desk against the door, leaning against it and panting heavily.

A well-known fact that a lot of people probably don't think about; moving furniture one-armed isn't the easiest task in the world.

Sure, I've spent a year building my strength back up, but it still sucks if I'm being frank. Kian offered to help, already half-standing up to try and help me, only to have to freeze in that position once he realized walking wasn't an option.

I don't know how much longer I can handle the noises coming from outside. I don't know how much longer I can handle Larz just being _gone_. I'm trying to act strong, to act positive for Kian's benefit, but I can't keep it up much longer.

There's still that lingering question in the air: what if he doesn't come back?

More noises echo down the hallway, startling me. My hand goes to my machete without thinking. Already a reflex. Kian just watches silently, guilt still clouding in his eyes.

I want to yell at him to stop it, that it's not helping, but I know that won't help either. Getting upset now, on top of everything else, will only make things worse. Besides, it's not him I'm upset with. I should have stepped up. I should have done something. I said I didn't want to burden anyone, and yet here I am not really helping at all.

Sitting around and wallow because you got your arm practically blown off in a maintenance accident is one thing. Sitting here and waiting for something bad to happen is even worse.

A screech outside the door is abruptly cut off, ending in a whine that is equally as inhuman. There's another similar noise a second later. I step towards the door, listening.

"Kole, don't," Kian murmurs.

The screeches are dying out, one by one. I can hear the thumps as their bodies fall to the floor. I lean around the desk, trying to get as close as possible to the door while still leaving somewhat of a barrier. Just in case.

There's only one more screech, and then absolute silence. What I hear next almost sound like footsteps. The tiniest shadow passes through the crack at the bottom of the door, barely visible in the lack of light. Like a pair of feet so close on the other side that I can almost see them.

I feel the pressure of someone trying to turn the handle and push the door in, stopping when they realize they're making no progress. I lock my hand around the door-knob when they try again, stopping them from moving it any further.

I feel like it's not even right to breathe.

"You gonna let me in, or not?"

I freeze.

"Holy shit," Kian practically yelps, scrambling off the chair he had been sitting on. He regrets it almost immediately but continues his slow, painful progress towards me. I start shoving at the desk, not even caring about where it ends up. Eventually it just tips over towards me, leaving a few inches for me to yank the door open.

Larz is standing on the other side, hand half-raised like he was about to try opening it again. He's covered head to toe in thick, black blood. I'm extremely worried until he smiles.

It strikes me that I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that, so genuinely happy it almost hurts.

"Figured it out," he announces, still smiling. He tosses something at me. I just barely manage to catch it, the small bottle smacking against my chest.

I throw it somewhere behind me without looking. Kian makes a noise of discontent and starts after it.

I step forward and hug Larz as tightly as I can manage. He's disgusting, covered in so much of their blood that I can feel more of that than him, but it doesn't matter. He wraps his free arm around me, still holding the mace in the other. The hallway is littered with corpses, most with smashed in skulls or a neck so destroyed it's barely there.

When I finally take a step back it's to actually look at him, to make sure he's really okay. He's still smiling.

"I'm never going to be able to get up," Kian complains, rather loudly. He's sprawled face-down on the floor, reaching under the bed for the bottle. He finally reaches it, holding it up to his face.

"What even is this?" He questions.

"No idea," Larz supplies. "I took one just to see what it did. And let me tell you, I can't feel anything."

He's pointing to a jagged set of claw marks across his shoulder and collarbone. From what I can tell, it's really the only major injury he has. Kian makes a noise of satisfaction, pulling the lid off and tipping what is probably an inappropriate amount of pills in his hand. He begins making his way towards the bathroom, practically crawling there.

"I'll hug you when I can stand," he yells at us, finally getting himself through the doorway.

I still have a hand on Larz's arm, like I don't plan on letting him go anywhere any time soon. I'm really not. He wraps the arm I had a hold on around my shoulder, squeezing tight.

"What the hell did you do?" I mumble. The sudden amount of relief hitting me is probably visible from space. I can't even find the energy to care that the confidence I had tried to build up is gone. For five minutes, I don't need to be strong.

"I'll tell you all about it," Larz assures me. "Once I shower and sleep for about a year."

That I can accept and be happy about. He's safe. We're all safe.

For the first time in a long time, I think we're alright.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

I'm about as effectively useless in this situation as I could be.

I have no medical knowledge whatsoever, and whatever basic first-aid knowledge I think I know is completely outmatched by the fact that I'm surrounded by Careers who definitely know what they're doing.

We still don't have the things we need to fix Elias, though. Medical knowledge is only helpful when you have the supplies to actually put it to use.

It would also help if I could even look at his arm without wanting to throw up.

It really is almost completely severed from the rest of his body, only held where it is by the scrap's of Larkin's coat.

Both Seren and Meritt agree that just chopping his arm off entirely would probably be better for him, although I don't know if anyone's really willing to chop his fucking arm off. I'm certainly not volunteering to do it. He's in enough pain as is. There was a bottle of painkillers left in the infirmary but they're not working any miracles in the shape he's in. It didn't take as long as I expected to get to the third floor and actually set Elias down, but it's clear however long he's been dragged around really isn't helping.

We have no stitches to put his stomach back together, nothing except rolls of bandages and tape from that first-aid kit we found. Blood's already seeped clean through them.

He's dying. They don't send the supplies to save people who are already dying.

Everyone's even less willing to tell Larkin, and I guess Duke too, that fact.

"Attention, attention."

I stumble, smacking my hip into the table. Swearing, I rub a hand against it. Everyone else pauses, looking around the room at the sudden booming voice. Even Elias blinks sort of confusedly from where Duke's still basically holding him up.

"Is that—?" Seren starts.

"Yeah," Larkin finishes wearily. As if this shit couldn't get any creepier, now I'm going to be hearing Alana's voice wherever I go.

"I'm pretty sure everyone knows who this is," Alana states. "But just in case, it's the person who's inevitably going to end up killing all of you."

I can see the little speaker implanted near the ceiling at the door. Probably some sort of announcement system. Ship-wide, I'd bet. Just what I needed to complete my day.

"I'm sure at least some of you have found the handiwork I left behind last night. Which is good! At least you know what's coming to you now, if Elias hasn't already made it blatantly obvious. But to everyone else, it's nothing personal. Really! Some of you don't deserve what's going to happen to you. Most of you do, but I guess that's kind of beyond the point now."

"She could not get any more fucking dramatic," Seren mutters.

"Let's go down the list, shall we?" Alana asks, like we have a choice in the matter. I really wish we had a choice in the matter. "First off, Duke."

"Oh, this should be good," he mutters. Elias looks like he'd laugh, if he could.

"You had so much potential!" Alana laughs. "And then look at you pulled in the bloodbath. Picking the wrong side, killing my closest ally. You should've known you'd be hearing this eventually. And then there's Seren, whose known it since the beginning. You think you're pretty great, don't you? You've got all your little allies, except they won't be around to protect you once they're dead."

She just won't stop. She rattles off something about Larz and Kian, about how they won't escape again, not when they've had so many chances. The next time she sees them they'll die, according to her. She brings up the way too nice kid for Seven for even being near her for a few seconds in the bloodbath. Maybe she doesn't mention Elias because she knows he's already knocking on death's door.

"Kal!" Alana announces cheerily. "Man, do I miss you. No, really. I miss seeing your face so that I can imagine more easily beating the living shit out of you."

Does she not have _anything_ better to do in her spare time?

"But just like Seren, there will be no one to have your back eventually," she continues. "And once they're gone, so are you. You're nothing. So are you, Larkin. You could've helped me. This could have worked. You'll be making the wrong decisions until the day you die."

For a second, I think she's done. Alana trails off into silence for seconds longer than she had before. But of course she's not.

"I saved the best for last, of course. Everyone's forgotten about Meritt Trevall, haven't they? That's pretty good, for someone who got an eleven. When are you going to tell us how you got that, by the way? Or are you never going to? When are you going to fess up to the fact that you're bigger than what's going on in here, that you've been hiding what's going on since the beginning? You think I don't know you - maybe I don't. But I know that we've all got missions, here, and that sooner or later yours will blow up in everyone's faces. The sooner you remember who you are, the better."

"Sleep tight, kiddos," Alana finishes. "You're gonna need it."

I hear the static break of the connection as she shuts it off. No one says anything.

Meritt's staring at the floor. Duke and Larkin both have their eyes closed. Seren's looking at me, and she looks a lot more tired than I think I've ever seen her. That's worrying enough on it's own, ignoring everything Alana said.

I don't think any of us know where to go from here.

"That was fucked up," Elias finally manages, breaking the silence. Still, no one reacts.

Yeah. Yeah, it really was. And I think it's only going to get worse.

* * *

I know, I know. Get on it with the killing, Twist, you're boring us to tears here.

In order to kill people I have to be extra dramatic and draw it out, though. I'm basically Alana. I hope no one takes that seriously, I'm not quite that level of crazy or weird. It's very much fun to write, though, even though things almost always play out differently than how I originally tend to write them.

Hope everyone did alright over the two week break! As always, thanks for the reviews, I appreciate them dearly.

Until next time.


	26. The Other Side

Arena, Early Morning, Day Five.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

We're looking for a back-up generator.

I don't even know what a back-up generator looks like.

The only thing I know about electricity is that you shouldn't go near it. Maybe that's what the endless lengths of electric fencing in Eleven taught me, though. Kinnon's obviously more well-off than I ever was, you can tell just by the way she holds herself. She at least probably knows what she's looking for, even if she doesn't know how to work it.

I still get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I look at her. What I want to focus on is her shocked eyes when I pulled her back from the balcony, the way she took my hand yesterday because she was unsure of where I stood. All I can think about, though, is how easy it was for her, to turn on Arella. She said she was sorry, but not truly. I'm still convinced that if she can take care of Arella that easily, then what's to stop her from doing the same to me, when it comes to that?

I can hear Kinnon's footsteps echoing on the cement floor a little way's away. I'm not doing much other than standing here, just watching, although it's hard when it's nearly pitch black. We're in the underbelly of the ship, surrounded by machinery and the cold, dank air. It's been getting colder ever since the power went off, and finally Kinnon suggested looking for a solution.

Me, like the good little ally that I am, listened and trailed along after her.

"Find anything?" Kinnon calls. I jump, turning around towards the sound of her voice. I already told her I didn't even know what to look for. I know I should be of some use, but she can do this on her own without my help.

"No!" I reply, walking in the opposite direction just in case she decides to come and check on me. I don't even know how I'm supposed to find what we're looking for in the pitch black anyway. More points to Kinnon being able to find it before me.

I turn a corner past yet another one of the silent engines, running my hand along it to guide myself. I think there's a wall ahead, and I really have no interest in running into it.

Kinnon lets out a triumphant noise. I stop, listening to the sound of flicking switches, and then the hum of machinery starts up again. I feel it buzzing under my hand. Without warning the flights flicker on above my head, hesitating a moment before turning on fully. It's almost blinding, after spending so long in the dark, but it's so nice to see light after so long that I won't even complain.

She's still letting out some sort of odd little cheer. I smile, but it's more up at the lights than it is at Kinnon's antics. I've pretty much gotten used to them by now. It's just nice to be able to see again.

Everything around me is painted in shades of gray or white, even the floor. We're surrounded by towering stacks of machinery and pipes, the tops of some almost lost in the shadows. Really, it's like nothing I've ever laid eyes on before. The noise, now that the power is back on, is almost deafening. I don't know how long someone could spend down in the engine room before going insane.

My eyes finally land on one of the only splashes of colour in the room. It's a tool box, a blossom of bright red against the dreary background. It's lid is propped open, tools spilling out onto the workbench it's sitting on.

I pick up the crowbar propped up against the bench, hefting it's weight in my hand.

"What'cha got there?"

I turn towards Kinnon, who I notice almost immediately hesitates when she sees the crowbar in my hand. That's not Kinnon. That's a fear that she didn't know she had until now, the fear that she might get turned on as well.

Reaching my arm out, I offer it to her. Just as quickly as she hesitated she comes towards me, smiling, and takes it out of my hand.

There's an uneasiness there that wasn't present before.

"Could be useful," Kinnon says easily. "Anything else in there?"

Useful for caving someone's head in, maybe, and I have no doubt that she could if she put her mind to it. I don't want to think about it happening. I go back to rummaging in the toolbox. The only other thing I can see being useful, besides maybe the occasional wrench or screwdriver, is a hammer almost half the length of my arm. It's like any other hammer that I've used in my life, for repairing, for building. Not for taking someone's life. I guess the difference doesn't matter anymore.

Kinnon seems to have taking a liking to the crowbar. Looks like I won't be getting it back. I make sure to take the hammer. Kinnon watches me as I tuck it into my belt, only doing the same with the crowbar once she sees my hands free of any weapons.

Maybe this is progress. Real progress, this time, instead of the type Arella and I talked about. We're still working together, but we're wary now. Watchful. She's not going to be able to double cross me, and there's no way I'll be able to do it to her.

"We good to go?" Kinnon asks. "This place is giving me the creeps."

She never asked my opinion before. If she did, she didn't really care what I said anyway. I wish I could appreciate her asking now, but I know she's only doing it to make sure I'm still on her side.

Maybe Kinnon has finally realized that I'm not just going to sit here and listen, that I won't be her perfect ally because I never was.

Maybe she finally realizes that she has to watch out for me, not the other way around.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

The elevator jerks to life out of nowhere.

It feels like we've been stuck in here for days. Maybe we have. There's no way of telling. I heard the anthem, the third night, and I thought I heard it last night too but the longer I thought about it, my ears might've just been playing tricks on me. There's so much silence that I'm just pleading to hear anything else.

I'm so used to Glenn talking that it's weird when he doesn't. The fact that it's been several hours since I've heard him make a peep doesn't help either. I dragged him in here forever ago, but the elevator door wouldn't close no matter what I did. Glenn's spent almost the entirety of his time since then shoved into a corner of the elevator, generally trying to ignore the world, which also means ignoring me.

I really don't think he means to. Shutting down is easier than functioning, that I know first-hand, so I can't really blame him for not wanting to talk.

When the lights turn on again, when the elevator doors finally slide shut again, it's one of the biggest reliefs I've ever felt.

I haul myself to my feet. My legs are still mostly asleep; I've been sitting almost the entire time since I dragged Glenn back in here. I wanted to go back into the room, just to see if there was anything we could have missed, but he wouldn't let me. That I should've expected. No one but Gizelle has cared for so long that him grabbing my arm and stopping me from leaving actually startled me, though.

Glenn finally struggles up next to me, his arms wrapped around himself.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask. "Maybe—"

"Just ... just out of here. I don't care where," Glenn says quietly. I eye the buttons and press the one for '14'.

"Out of here it is, then."

It only takes a few seconds for the elevator to reach the fourteenth floor, but Glenn practically bolts when the doors open. I know the air of uneasiness wasn't the greatest in here, but he's still taking it more to heart than I thought.

The fourteenth floor is lit up as well. Seems like the Gamemakers put the power back on, or someone figured out how to fix it on their own. Wouldn't surprise me.

Glenn continues staring around, looking for a direction to go. Finally, he turns back to me, clearly lost. The only thing is, instead of looking at me for direction or asking any sort of question, he freezes. His eyes go almost comically wide.

Instead of asking, I turn around as well.

I'll just say that I'm not one to freak out easily. Excluding the Viscaria situation, I like to think I'm normally pretty rational. Sure, my emotions aren't the most intact, but I know better than anyone how to shove them down. But that's for situations that are normal.

When I turn around and see someone 15 feet away staring at me, I don't consider that a normal situation.

The hallway here is more like an open room, with heavy doors at the end. One of them is cracked open just the slightest few inches. The blue glow of computer screens is illuminating the room behind them, but all I can really focus on is who I think is the Eight guy just staring at me.

Glenn darts forward and grabs the back of my jacket. The Eight guy's got one hand on the edge of the door. His other hand is clutching tight to a knife not even the size of his hand, but it's a knife nonetheless.

He stares, unblinking and almost as wide-eyed as Glenn, for a few seconds. I'm trying to look imposing, trying to look like someone he probably doesn't want to fight, but he's not moving no matter what I do. From what I can see, the knife is trembling in his hand. He glances over his shoulder quickly, looking back into the room, and then back out to us. Realistically, I could beat him; I'm taller and bigger than he is. I just really don't want to test out my odds right now.

"He's not going to kill us," Glenn whispers, barely audible. "We should run."

"Whoever's with him might."

I don't even know who's with him, I didn't pay any attention. I was too busy moping around the entirety of training.

"Eleven guy's dead," Glenn replies. "Eight girl?"

Sure, for all I know. The only experience I had with the Eight girl was her glaring daggers at me when I got within 10 feet of the station she was at. I high-tailed it in the opposite direction. Anything to get away from the look on her face. If her look if that bad, I don't imagine her fists are any nicer, and just because her ally doesn't seem eager to kill us doesn't mean she's the same.

The Eight guy glances back into the room again. It's longer this time, like he's making sure of something.

He turns back to us. "Don't go to the third floor."

In one swift second, he backs up and shuts the door silently, leaving us standing in the hallway. All I can manage to do is stare blankly at the closed door, Glenn's hand still entangled in my jacket.

"Can we go now?" Glenn murmurs. I feel like I'm waiting for the door to burst open, for someone new to emerge who has no qualms about killing us.

"Yeah."

I shove back at Glenn until he gets the hint. I keep walking backwards, one eye trained on the door and the other on him. It doesn't open. There's not even any noise coming from the inside. If he just spared us, then we need to take the opportunity to run and hide before he changes his mind.

And, apparently, not go to the third floor.

I _really_ don't want to know what that was all about.

* * *

 **Elias Basin, 18 years, District Four Male**

* * *

It's getting harder to breathe.

I don't think my lungs are punctured, but with all the other pain it's not like I can really tell. Every breath hurts no matter what I do. I can't sleep, I can't drink without choking it right back up the second I even try to keep it down, and I have no desire to see if eating will work out.

All I've been doing is laying on the couch, as still as still can be, and only talking when someone asks me something.

The worst part is, Duke's been sitting on the floor about two feet away just fucking staring the whole time.

I get that he thinks it's helping, that I need some form of emotional support when Larkin's not hovering, but the staring isn't something I'm interested in.

I wait until he looks away for all of two seconds to turn my head to the side, painful as it is, so that when he turns back to me I'm staring him in the face.

To Duke's credit, he still looks rather indifferent. He's spent the past twelve hours perfecting it, though, so it isn't that much of a success. For a while I'm convinced he's just going to keep staring at me. He'll stare me to death pretty soon.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," he says, finally. Still staring, though.

"It's not."

He lets out a deep sigh, getting up and sitting down just as quickly, only this time it's on the sliver of couch that's left next to my hip. I can tell he tries to be as gentle as he possibly can, but it still moves me the slightest bit that it hurts like hell. After so long of pretending, I can't even manage to hold it in. The pain crosses every inch of my face, the burning in my legs and stomach lingering as long as I'm tense.

"Calm down," Duke advises. Which really doesn't help at all, considering he has no idea what it's like to be in this position. Calming down is about as effective an order as whatever else they've been recommending.

"You look like shit," I accuse, because apparently the only thing I can manage to do in this state is be an ass to him. He really does look terrible, though, like he hasn't slept in days. It can't have been that long, but I think everything's finally starting to catch up to him.

"That's rich, coming from you," Duke points. "You look like you got put through a meat grinder."

I can't help but smile, even though it pulls at the tears across my cheeks and the ones just barely reaching my lips. I don't want to imagine what I look like. Judging by the varying expressions I've gotten over the past few hours; from Larkin's panic to Seren's barely concealed horror, it's not something I want to look at. Seren's been sitting in the corner for hours now, knees drawn up to her chest, hiding the horror as best she can. She's got her eyes closed now, but I don't think she's asleep. Probably supervising, if anything.

"I'm sorry," Duke says out of the blue. I wish I could roll my eyes.

"Should've started with that, dickhead, instead of telling me to shut up."

"Probably." Duke's almost smiling. It's nice to see something other than disgust for once.

The more I think about it, it's like I can feel the life leeching out of me. Every breath I take, every word I even say out-loud takes something out of me. That might also have something to do with the blood that won't stop leaking out of my shoulder, or the blood that's staining the entirety of the couch, but no one's going to say that outright.

"You know what you should be sorry for?" I say quietly. "Letting me die like this."

Duke's eyes snap to mine. There's no more careful, considering gaze, just disbelief. It's the truth, though. I might survive another day, maybe two if I'm lucky, but what's the point, in the end? It'll be more painful than anyone should ever have to die, if some sort of infection or fever doesn't knock me out first. Eventually I'll bleed out or my heart will just stop and by the time anyone realizes it'll be too late.

I don't want to sit here and wait for my clock to stop ticking.

"I'm not killing you," Duke whispers. "And neither will Larkin, or Kal, or—"

"She might."

Seren's eyes open with a start, staring at me from her corner. Duke looks between us frantically, not quite knowing who to focus on.

"I know you think you're helping me," I start. "But letting me ride this out isn't helping. Let me die with some goddamn dignity, if I have any left. And if you won't do it, if no one else here will, then let Seren."

I think Seren and I at least have an understanding, oddly enough. She probably doesn't want to die like that either, lying around and waiting for it to happen, but rather in some blaze of glory or heroic sacrifice or anything other than this slow, painful death. Everyone else here probably hasn't even thought about it. But if I can't have that, I at least want to choose. My parents made so many choices for me, the Academy did, hell, even Alisha ran my life because I let her. Living a lie was easier than anything else.

I'm done with people deciding what happens to me.

"If it's any consolation," I add. "I don't want you to watch that happen either."

I can picture Duke, sitting here for however many days it takes, refusing to leave until I'm dead. Larkin might leave, with some coaxing, but I know he won't. It's precisely the reason I called him an asshole. He just doesn't know when to quit.

I do, though. I'm running out of time.

I just want it to end.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

I wake up warm, content, and safe for the first time in a while.

Well, maybe not safe, but it's certainly better than the hell I went through yesterday. Feels safe enough to me.

It took everything I had left in me just to shower and get all of the blood off, and by the time I had found a clean set of clothes and saw the bed I was almost asleep on my feet. It didn't take long for me to pass out after that. I don't even remember falling asleep.

I can't have slept long. The light managing to filter in through the curtains is still pale, still too early to be far into the morning.

Kole is seemingly out cold in the armchair in the corner, knees drawn up to her chest and a blanket pulled up to her chin. I can hear rummaging out in the other room, and I'll assume it's Kian doing god knows what until further notice. Though if he's rummaging around, that must mean progress, right?

I keep my eyes open until he returns to the room. The first thing that strikes is me that he's walking completely fine. Like nothing ever happened. The second he notices me awake he smiles, holding out his arms.

"Look at this, it's like I'm brand new."

I can't help but reciprocate his smile. Remembering before, when he could barely walk or talk without being in agony, keeps pushing it's way to the front of my mind. Seeing this now, makes me realize just how worth it the past day was.

"Are you really, though?"

Kian sits down hard on the edge of the bed, like he's trying to prove a point. He waits a moment, like he's testing it out, and then smiles again.

"Honestly?" He asks. "I don't think so. I don't know how to explain it. They're still broken, it's like I can tell, but whatever was in that bottle is stopping me from feeling any of it. Which, to me, is as close to as good as new as we're gonna get."

A permanent solution for the problem wasn't something I imagined finding. A temporary one, though, I can live with. Things have been going slow so far; I can only imagine things are going to go a lot quicker from here on out. Maybe temporary is enough.

"I should probably take it easy," Kian continues. "But it just feels nice to be able to move on my own."

I'm surprised he still isn't sleeping, to be perfectly honest. We spent nights listening to him lie awake because he couldn't get comfortable, because the pain wouldn't let him sleep. It makes sense, I guess. Being limited for so long probably makes you want to move as much as possible as you can.

"Anything else happen while I was asleep?" I inquire. He shrugs.

"Not much. Lights came back on not long ago. Finally convinced Kole to sleep a few hours ago. You guys have done enough."

We haven't though. Maybe for Kian we have, but there's still a long way to go. The Gamemakers have let us go without confrontation for a few days; they'll be expecting something soon, or they'll throw us into it. They rewarded us - what I felt when I saw that parachute drop out of the sky was like nothing else. Sure, it took me crushing in several dozen skulls and hiding with bated breath for an entire tonight, but they rewarded us.

"Do you think Kole's slept long enough?"

Kian eyes me. I sit up, reaching for my boots. My backpack is still here, and my mace, still covered in blood. I think it's a good thing that I didn't wash it off. It's like a reminder that they're beatable, that I beat them and we finally have a victory.

"She'd probably think so. Why?" Kian questions. There's no wariness in his eyes like there was back in training.

I stand up, grabbing the mace off the floor. I can't feel any soreness in my body. It's seems like whatever magic's in that bottle is still working.

"I think we've sat around long enough. Time to go?"

Kian grins almost instantly. It's a lot like the person he was before, confident and a little cocky and ready to face whatever he has to. I've gotten so used to the Kian in the Games, the one that was hurt and quiet and despairing, that this old one is a relief.

Change might be coming, and if we're lucky, it'll be at our hands.

He picks up his spear, already halfway across the room to wake Kole.

"Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

Of course the decision lands on me.

Well, mostly. Everyone else gets a say as well, but really, who am I to take away someone's right to die? If Elias wants to die, someone should let him. There's a part of me though, that wishes it could be someone else. Meritt said he would, if I really couldn't do it, but there's no point in it. I know I could do it. If he had attacked me, fought me, I would have killed him without hesitation. So why am I hesitating now?

He's defenseless. He's lying there and asking for it. Because it's not right and even I know that.

Duke doesn't want to listen to reason, but even he knows deep down that this is the solution, rather than letting Elias suffer. Larkin agrees too, although her trembling hands only indicate she's okay with it because I'm the one willing to do it.

Kal, much to my surprise, completely agreed. Something about if it was him in the position and he wanted to die, he hoped we'd be merciful enough to let it happen.

I know I'll never kill him. I don't know which of us could.

Finally, I make myself go back out into the living room. I'd mostly taken to locking myself in the bathroom once everyone had talked, trying to will myself into being less of an idiot. It's not a fight to the death right now, I'm supposed to kill someone who wants to die. It just shouldn't suck this much.

Kal's sitting on the table next to the couch, Meritt just behind him. Larkin's perched on the arm of the couch almost next to Duke, who has barely moved since he sat down on the couch next to Elias. He stares blankly at me as I drop myself down on the coffee table next to Kal, who shifts closer until his shoulder is brushing against mine. It's a small comfort, but one needed nonetheless.

"We really doing this?" I ask. Elias tips his head up to stare at the ceiling.

"No. You're all gathered here to listen to a wicked bed-time story."

Duke sighs, Larkin almost manages to smile, and Kal chuckles, shaking my shoulder the slightest bit.

"That's not funny," Duke mutters.

"What's not funny," Elias decides. "Is that you're wearing _white_ to my _funeral_. In fact, Arker's the only who is dressed remotely appropriate for this."

Kal gives him a thumbs up, but I can tell despite his laughing and his confidence, that he'd rather be anywhere but here, watching this happen.

It seems like no one's really willing to say anything else, because it's all on me. They're waiting for me to do something, for me to decide how this is going to happen.

"I'll die of old age before you finish me off," Elias states flaty. He doesn't look annoyed, though. He can probably imagine himself in this situation too, only I don't know if he'd be this hesitant about it. Hell, hesitant hadn't even been a word to associate with me until now.

"Then tell me how we're doing this."

Elias taps a finger on his chest as best as he can manage. Directly over his heart.

"Might as well go for it. You're strong enough."

Well, he's right about that. I've been taught how to get a knife in someone's heart as many ways as there are. I was taught to expect resistance, though I didn't listen much during training at the Academy anyway. You shouldn't be able to get to someone's heart this easy.

"Now or never," I practically whisper. Elias doesn't even more. There are so many things he could probably say. We may not be friends, but he probably still wants one of us to win. At least one of us to kick Alana's ass for him. But we already know all of that.

I take a knife out of my belt, placing the point directly above his heart. I lock my hands around the hilt. Elias nods, as reassuringly as he can.

"See you on the other side," he says, but that's directed towards all of us. I could turn around, look at everyone one last time just to make sure nothing's changed. I just think it would make it worse, though. I don't need someone stopping me at this point.

I grip the hilt tighter one last time and plunge the knife into his chest.

Elias body jerks against the knife but I keep my hands around it, pushing down until the handle brushes against his chest. There's no blood, not immediately. His body is still moving like it's struggling against the knife and the pain, but his eyes slip closed without any warning. He stops moving, finally, his body going slack against the couch.

My hands are still locked around the knife.

It's Kal, who's apparently full of surprises today, that pries my fingers apart and takes them in his own hands. There's blood now, just a little bit, seeping out around the edges of the knife. It'd be a lot worse if I took it out, which is why I won't. I'd rather it stay where it is.

Kal's standing so close I can barely look up to see him. Meritt just watches me impassively, wringing his own hands together like he wants to do something but doesn't know what. A lone tear finally escapes the corner of Larkin's eye, but she brushes it away just as quickly, turning her head away from us.

Of course, it's Duke that really gets me. His hand is locked white-knuckled around Elias' own, who probably reached out for him seconds before his heart stopped. For anyone, just to know someone was there, but of course it was Duke.

I watch him carefully untangle his fingers, not jostling Elias at all, and then he gets up and removes himself from the room in a matter of seconds.

He's gonna need time we don't have to process this. I could use some time of my own. I could use a lot of things I'm not gonna get. The only thing I have right now is my strength, and even that's proven to not be the most reliable.

Instead I focus on Kal's hands around my own, the way Meritt leans forward and puts a feather-light hand on my back just to say he's there.

I'm stronger with them here.

* * *

And you guys were all worried about the Fours in a water-based arena.

My author's notes lately have mostly just consisted of me spouting some bullshit or other and frankly I'm kind of running out of ideas that aren't stupid jokes, so I apologize whole-heartedly for every single one of them, because they're getting more terrible as time progresses.

Thank you dearly for the reviews as always, I appreciate all of them.

Until next time.


	27. Burning Bridges

Arena, Evening, Day Five.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

It's weighing on me more than I thought it would.

Alana's words keep ringing in my head, over and over, like a mantra that's louder than it should be. It's all _bigger than what's going on here_ and _the sooner you remember who you are, the better_. And then, finally, it's _mission, mission, mission_ , so continuous and never-ending like if it keeps repeating the word, whispered in my head, eventually I'll be forced to listen to it.

I don't want to listen to it.

Maybe I was wrong about Alana. Maybe she does know me, not in the way she wants, but more than I assumed. We're not the same people, of course; our pasts couldn't be more different. But we've both done things, terrible things, and neither of us regret them because we just needed to survive. She volunteered to escape her life, to escape the death that would get handed to her one day, and I volunteered because someone told me that I needed to.

I don't know why I needed to. By all rights, I could win. That I know. But what purpose does that serve for them, in the long run? Maybe it doesn't serve one at all.

Seren sits down without warning next to me on the balcony. Larkin's sitting at the far end, curled into a rickety patio chair like this is some sort of refuge for her. I didn't want to bug her, so I chose the other end. I'm far enough away from her that she barely has to notice me yet not far enough to escape my allies.

Allies. More like friends. But I'm not supposed to have friends, relationships, anything I should have.

"You alright?" I ask her as she crosses her legs, staring out over the water.

"I could ask you the same question."

Of course she noticed. Seren always notices, even if she doesn't act like it. She's staring at me now, and I can barely look her in the eye. The guilt overwhelms the ringing in my head.

"I'm fine."

"Which is the same thing you said after your training session, and I still don't know what the hell happened there either."

I never know what to say when things like this are brought up. It's always some false, contrived version of the truth or something not even close to it because I try to backpedal so far in the opposite direction. Seren deflates, resting her chin on her knees, but she's still watching me. Even if I told her to stop caring she wouldn't. It's probably one of her only fatal flaws.

"I'm not gonna make you say anything," Seren says quietly. "But I want you to know that you can. Fuck Alana. Fuck ... whoever's saying you can't. Obviously there's things I don't know, _we_ don't know."

There's so much she doesn't know.

A part of me wonders what would have happened if I had chose the opposite side. Would I still be with Alana, right now? Probably. I know when to make the smart move, when to pick the side that keeps me alive. I would be an entirely different person if I was with her, because she represents everything I should be. Everything I'm trying to run away from but can't escape.

"You can tell me," Seren continues. "Or you could not. But you're not alone in this."

"And what about Alana?" I ask. I'm genuinely curious. I don't know what our gameplan is, now that this has happened.

"Duke wants her dead. Wouldn't surprise me if Larkin did too, and it's not like Kal or I are opposed."

"They're not going to let us fight her with that big of advantage."

"I know," Seren states. "Which is why you should take Duke and go."

I freeze, and for the first time since she sat down, I can actually look her in the eyes. That sentence could do so much damage, but it makes a scary amount of sense. Even if Larkin leaves, a four versus one isn't something the Gamemakers want. If we want to get closer to Alana, we need to split up.

"Why?" I whisper. If this is how it goes down, then this could be it for us. For all of us.

"Duke's going to go with or without us. He's pissed. He needs someone to watch his back and I think you need a break from ... all of this. And with how much she's out for Kal, someone's going to need to watch his back too."

So we split up. I leave with Duke, probably soon, and we try to find her. Seren and Kal do the same. Either way we're stronger than Alana, we have a better shot at beating her than she does us. But leaving scares me. I feel like the second this part of my world fractures, so do I. And just like Alana said it would, the explosion will happen. God only knows if I'll be able to control it when it does.

I don't know if I want to leave. I know I have to. It looks like the decision has already made. But that doesn't mean it's what I want.

The worst thing about all of this is I don't know if I want Alana dead. If she dies, it's like the old part of me dying. We're cut from the same cloth, the same shade of neutrality, raised in our eerily similar worlds of violence and destruction that neither of us should have ever grown up in.

And I don't know what I am without that part.

* * *

 **Kinnon Arias, 15 years, District Nine Female**

* * *

I watch as Sinora creeps down the hallway towards the open deck at the end.

She's quieter than I am as well as smaller, and I trust her to be able to check things out before we go outside.

It feels amazing to say I can actually trust her. Being allies and actually trusting people are two very different things and I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to build that bridge, let alone cross it. Eliminating Arella may have made us weaker at first but I think it built us back up, in the long run.

Sinora finally waves me down the hallway, no doubt after she's sure that there's no one there. I'm only half-way to her, though, when she takes a step back, waving her hands again almost frantically. I stop in my tracks, waiting until she backs up towards me to say anything.

"What's wrong?"

"Saw someone. Two someones. Think it's the Fives - she's the one with one arm, right?"

I shove past her and peek around the wall to the deck. Sinora points over my shoulder, to the left and a little up. I follow with my eyes until I see the two silhouettes. They're walking around a small section of elevated deck. Only four steps separate our level from their own. There doesn't seem to be much up there except some tables and chairs, but they're checking nonetheless. There's another four set of stairs around the other side.

A few moments pass. I can't hear what they're saying, but they're talking. The boy has a spear in his hand, and there's a machete in the girl's belt. Both of them have backpacks.

We didn't get much from the bloodbath. Pretty much the only thing to our names are our weapons, including the ones we found this morning. I'm not risking going back to the Cornucopia just yet, even though the Four boy is dead too. There are still three Careers out there, and I'm not stupid enough to think we'd win if they found us.

These two, though. These two we could beat. They're not even looking this way. We could creep around to the stairs and pin them in the middle. That's the only way down unless they jump over the railing and escape the other way, but they wouldn't have the time to.

"Okay, here's the plan—"

"What do you mean, the plan?" Sinora whispers. She's still leaning around my shoulder, watching the two of them. If we don't move soon, they're going to leave.

"Their backs are to us, we'll each go a separate way to the stairs. You go around the pillars to the right and I'll take the long way to the other staircase. Just wait for me to get there."

Sinora isn't looking at me in encouragement like I expected, like it's a good plan that she agrees with. In fact, the same look that was in her eyes this morning, the one that realized she had a crowbar in her hand with me standing five feet away, is back. The one that's telling me she'll contemplate every single option she has, even if it means killing me first.

I hate when she looks like that. Obviously.

"They're not screwing with us," Sinora starts. "And what if they have other allies that we can't see? They had more, before the bloodbath, I wasn't _blind_. We should turn around and go."

We can't go. This might be the only change we get, one that's this perfectly set up.

"Are you going to do this with me or not?" I ask plainly. Sinora can walk away, if she wants. But that's not going to stop the outcome. I'll go over there and kill them. The boy's not that much taller than me and the girl's got one arm, for crying out-loud. They can't be that bad.

I already killed one person. I don't care if I have to do it again.

Sinora disappears from my side without warning. Instead of running the other way she takes off towards the pillars I had pointed towards. It looks like she's going to help me with this. For how much longer, I have no idea.

I start off the other way, ducking behind potted plants and vending stands until I'm positioned in front of the stairs. I can just glimpse Sinora across me from, almost hidden in shadow. The sun's going down. We won't have long until the mutts come out. We have to do this now.

I'm about to nod to Sinora that we're good to go when I see the third silhouette just behind her. One that definitely has a weapon. She might've been right about the allies, and she can't even see it coming.

Screw it.

I spring out of my hiding spot, spear in one hand and crowbar in the other. I have to get as close as I can.

Whoever the silhouette is hasn't seen me running, but they've seen Sinora hiding. Sinora, who is staring at me in disbelief, who was waiting for me to give the signal.

My feet hit the first of the steps. The Fives still haven't even seen me. The third person is almost on top of my only remaining ally.

"Sinora!" I yell. I make it to the top of the stairs just as the Five boy turns towards me, and I swing the crowbar straight towards his neck. His arm comes up too slow. There's no time for any of this, not enough time to do what I really need to, and not enough time for him to save himself.

The curved end of the crowbar sinks directly into his throat.

If I had time to reflect on it, the fact that the Five girl doesn't even scream would startle me.

What she does do is dive forward, one hand wrapped around the middle of my crowbar, and rips it away from me. That only rips it out of her allies neck as well, sending a spray of blood across both of us. He collapses to the ground within seconds, but there's no cannon. Not yet.

I check to see where the Five boy landed, hoping to avoid tripping over him, and his partner punches me directly in the face.

I can safely say I wasn't expecting _that_ , of all things.

She may have one arm, but it's a hell of a lot stronger than I anticipated. I hit the railing behind me with the force of it, trying to twist away for her, reaching for the opposite stairs. That's where the crowbar is, and the spear is too big in such a small space to be effective.

I'm almost there when she tackles me straight to the ground. My fingers brush against the metal of the crowbar, but I'm not close enough. It's gonna take inches I'm not going to be able to gain to grab it. I struggle against her, searching for purchase against the ground, but there's nothing there.

I can hear the sounds of the Five boy, no doubt choking on his own blood, but I can't hear anything of Sinora or who has to be the Three boy. Nothing at all. I try to turn, searching out where she had been.

"Kole, move!"

The Five girl shoves herself off of me, leaving me free to move, and then I promptly get kicked in the face.

I wasn't expecting that either.

The kick turns me fully onto my back so that I'm left gasping up at the darkening sky. My nose is split open across the top and there's blood splattered across my cheeks and in my mouth. The Five girl has backed off me. The Three guy is standing above me, a mace raised a foot above my head.

There was no cannon for Sinora, which means she's still alive. Where is she? What is she doing? Is there any chance she could get over here and _help_?

I just barely see pale green in the corner of my vision, and it's coming closer. That was Sinora's colour. Maybe it's the kick in the face, or maybe I just don't understand. But it _is_ Sinora. She's standing over me too, almost next to the Three guy, and they've both got weapons tight in their grip.

"I'm sorry too," Sinora says simply.

I only get what's happening when it's too late and both of their weapons come crashing down towards me.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

I'm too busy scrambling back towards Kian to see what happens to the Nine girl.

Judging by the almost instantaneous cannon, at least it was quick. I didn't even see which weapon got to her first. It doesn't even matter.

Kian's lying flat on his back, hands grasped around his throat. There's so much blood pouring from the hole in his neck it's hard to focus on anything else. The only other thing I can really see is his wide, terrified eyes and the way his hands are searching for a way to stop whatever's happening.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," I whisper. I lace my fingers through his as best I can, trying to keep pressure on the wound, but it's like I can see what Kian can't. There's too much blood.

He tries to open his mouth and nothing comes out but blood, sliding in waves down his chin and throat.

I keep my hands clenched as tightly as possible around his. He's staring at me in terror, eyes already a bit foggy, like he knows it too, or maybe it's because I'm just sitting here and not even trying to fix it.

"Larz," I choke out, turning around to try and seek him out. My eyes are blurred over just like his. Kian's hands aren't even shaking against mine anymore, like he really does know.

Larz is standing behind me, bloody mace is hand, just staring. I can hardly remember the Larz of the night before, the one who was smiling because we might have a chance, the one who, this morning, was certain we had a chance now. Because of everything he had done.

Was that all for nothing?

The empty, blank look in Larz's eyes is saying it was.

I turn back to Kian. The first thing I see is the equally empty look in his eyes, except they're staring sightlessly past my shoulder, completely glazed over. His hands are limp around mine, still slick with blood.

I pull back until my hands are freed from his, but I don't know what to do with them. They just hover uselessly in mid-air. There's no purpose for them now.

Larz practically picks me up off the ground, holding me still until my legs stop shaking enough to stand upright. I've never felt more hopeless, more incapable. What was the point of the past year, of putting myself back together, if all of this was just fated to happen anyway?

It takes me a second to realize the Eleven girl is still here. Sinora, that's what the Nine girl called her. Sinora, who just killed what appears to be her ally. Her corpse is still laying on the ground between us, chest half-caved in and a deep sickle stab in her chest. Looks like they both got to her. Like a cue, another cannon rings out. The anthem will be on soon, and both of their faces will be in the sky, and that will really confirm it.

How many more people can I let down?

"Leave," I whisper. I take the machete out of my belt, the weapon I didn't even have a chance to grab because of how quickly everything happened. There's no tremor in my hands when I point it in her direction.

"Just leave."

Sinora backs up, hands held up in the air. All I know is that she just helped Larz kill one of her allies, yet I don't understand why.

I don't understand any of this.

Larz pries the machete out of my grip. I was holding onto it so tightly I doubt I would've let it drop on my own.

It's when Sinora finally disappears that I realize I want to go after her, and I can't figure that out either. She didn't kill Kian. She didn't put a fucking crowbar, of all things, in his throat and leave him to bleed out. She was here, but somehow convinced Larz not to kill her, to let her help.

If I knew her better, I'd say that was her plan.

I just want some of the horror in me to go away.

The tears in my eyes are stronger than before. It's like they're begging to be let out, to fall free. I've spent so long learning how to force them back that I'm not about to let them win now.

When Larz finally gets a solid hold on me, when he pulls me down the stairs, I just want to crumble into pieces and stay there.

After all of this, after everything I've been through, maybe I'm not as strong as I thought.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

I should have seen this coming.

Joining a Career alliance, pretending to be something I really wasn't deep down, it was only going to end like this. Maybe it's right to say I'm the only one left. Alana was never really with us; if she was, things wouldn't have went down the way they did.

And now, all sorts of decisions have been made, once again without me. At least this time I expected it.

We're all leaving. It's better that way, I think. Maybe I was never meant to be in any sort of alliance. Kellen went at it mostly alone. Standing here now, I would have been smarter to follow his lead.

Duke and Meritt are packed up and ready to go, laden with as many supplies and weapons as they could possibly have. I took the sickle Elias still had with him and Duke took the rest of his knives, few as they were. He probably lost most of them fighting Alana.

"We're staying here for the night," Seren says, exiting the bedroom towards us with Kal on her heels. "I could use a nap."

Both of them drop their respective bags on a nearby chair, although make no other moves. I feel awkward, just standing here. These four are close, closer than any relationship I could have ever made, and here I am just watching them split up. They offered to let me go with them, and I refused. What point is there in trying to forge any sort of lasting relationship now?

I let myself hover awkwardly in the doorway as Seren reaches for Meritt, hugging him so tight it almost looks painful. It's strange to see him reciprocate. It's even stranger to think that we considered them the outsiders, yet here they are functioning better than we ever could.

Here they are, still alive, and I can't say the same.

She moves onto Duke. They cling to each other just as tightly, but this time it looks like an apology. They're both sorry for Elias, sorry that it had to happen and sorry that Seren had to do it. They can't be upset at each other for it, and they won't be. That's no way to part ways.

"You've only got one bullet," Meritt reminds Kal, pointing at the gun in his belt. It's worried me since the second I laid eyes on it. "Save it for something good."

Kal, miraculously, still has the energy left to laugh, but hugs him just as tightly as Seren did all the same. They're all like best friends, like siblings. The things I'd still have if I wasn't here.

After the length of time it takes them to finish their goodbyes, I can tell just how reluctant it's made them to leave. Duke may want Alana dead, but even he didn't think this would have to happen.

"Remember, meet back tomorrow night at our first place," Seren confirms. "And just ... be careful. Please."

Everyone nods. I didn't bother asking where the first place they found was. They even offered, said I could meet back up with them tomorrow and every night after that until we accomplished something, but I didn't want to. If I wasn't meant to be with my other alliance, then I doubt I'm supposed to be here. They've made it work without me, that's not going to change just because I stepped into their lives for a night.

I watch as Duke and Meritt finally leave, the room completely silent. Seren and Kal stare after them, standing side by side, shoulders pressed together. I adjust the straps on my bag until they're lying flat against my shoulders. I've got all my weapons. I'm never going to be more ready to go.

Kal smiles grimly. "You sure?"

"Yeah," I respond. "I appreciate it, I really do. I'll be fine on my own. Thank you, though. For everything."

For not leaving me alone with the decision to kill Elias. For proving to me that it might be possible to take out our greatest enemy. Maybe it won't be me that gets to Alana, but it'll be enough.

"Good luck," Seren says, and it's a simple statement, but I think it helps all the same. I nod.

"You too." They don't need luck, with how things have been going for them, but it can't hurt.

When I leave, it's like shutting the door on everything I thought was a possibility. Those dreams of joining an alliance that was actually worth something, of proving myself to people who actually knew what it meant to be strong, that's all over now.

There's no more pretending I'm something I'm not.

Now I only have one goal in mind. Alana said it herself that Elias had the higher score, that he was better trained, that he could beat us if he really wanted to. All it took was her getting an advantage and the scales tipped in her favor. I don't know if there's anything on this ship that could do the same for me, but I'm gonna damn well try to find it.

I can head back to the Cornucopia. I can refresh my supplies. I can hope, with every fiber of my being, that what I'm doing is enough. But that won't matter if she wins. If Alana beats me, if she beats us, then there's no stopping her.

I won't let it happen. For once in my life I have to stop trying for other people, stop moving just because someone else tells me to, and do it for myself.

I can't hesitate anymore.

* * *

 **Erna Kinsley, 17 years, District Eight Female**

* * *

I've gotten too restless to sit in one place for long.

The little computer room is a good place to camp out, but just sitting in there is driving me nuts. With all of the movement going on around us it's even worse.

The two cannons went off are from the two lights that disappeared off the fifteenth floor, that's pretty obvious. The three that lived, presumably, have since moved downward. I can still see the panic in Rover's eyes from when those five dots overlapped. A fight broke out, even he knew that, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Ever since it ended, though, we're the highest up in this place again.

The number of people that have split up certainly aren't helping Rover's anxiety anyway.

He's taken to following me around the fourteenth floor, even though there's not too much here. I just needed to walk, and I brought my weapons with me just in case. Of course he followed. Getting Rover to stay back with the computers would have never worked. Now he's just trailing along behind me, knife in one hand and that damn notebook in the other. He's staring at it like it holds the keys to the universe.

"Let me see that," I announce, swiping the notebook from his hands. Rover just stares at me in silence, hands grasping at empty air where the book once was.

A lot of it's the same. Light green is the Eleven girl. Gray's are the Sixes, even though I have no idea if that's right.

There are two new additions, scribbled just under those. He's lucky I can even read them. Guess he learned the art of chicken-scratch from spending so much time around doctors. Golden are the Nines, and dark green is the remaining Seven. Or Nine, I guess now, because one of the golden dots has since disappeared.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "When did you remember this?"

Rover keeps his eyes conveniently downcast, toeing the floor with one boot.

"Uh, j-just when you were asleep. I think I remember seeing—"

"Rover."

The blood drains out of his face so fast I'm almost convinced he's going to pass out. I wouldn't put it past him, after all of the stuff I've seen him do.

"Just tell me," I sigh. I have no idea how the hell he knows, but it's clearly something more than whatever I was thinking. Maybe he ran past them in the bloodbath, maybe he just had a sudden light bulb go off in his head. Judging by the guilty look on his face, the one he gets the second I even look at him most times, it's probably worse. It's always worse than I thought with this situation.

"You were still asleep, and I - I thought I heard something so I went to check and then I saw that the missing lights showed up, so I opened the door and they were just standing there, and—"

"Hold on. Who was standing there?" I ask, trying to be patient. Sometimes I think I'm used to Rover, and then he talks so fast and so panicky that I throw all pretense of that out the window. Just the fact that he's telling me at all is a miracle, though. I have to take what little I can get.

"The boys from Nine and Seven. A-And I didn't know what to do, so I let them go."

I can already feel the migraine coming on. He just let two people go, probably didn't even make a step in their direction, and told them to leave before I woke up and decided otherwise. And why? Because he didn't want to watch me kill them? Because he was afraid of what would happen if he had to step in? That's two people who could have died, two steps closer to the end of all this bullshit, and they're still out there.

Because of him.

"I'm sorry," Rover whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Deep breaths, here. Deep breaths.

"It's alright," I force out. I'm practically grinding my teeth together. Rover is still staring at me in fear, though, fingers trembling around the damn knife in his hand. I force my facial expression back into something calmer, thinking all the while mentally that this is absolutely fucking ridiculous. He should've woken me up. I could've killed them by myself, they're no big threat. Sure, he would've had to watch, but there's almost no chance he would've had to help.

"It's alright," I repeat, evening my voice out. "Just _please_. Please wake me up next time."

Rover nods frantically, trying to keep his eyes on mine. It doesn't last for long until he's back to looking at the ground again. I pass him the notebook, nudging at his hands until he takes it back, his fingers locked around the spine.

"Let's just go back, hey?" I say, although we both know it's more of an order than anything. _We're going back before I have an aneurism_ , is what I don't say out-loud, but the words might as well be echoing down the hallways. It's only a matter of time before it actually happens.

Gently, I put a hand on Rover's back. Gently, because he'll probably freak out if it's anything but.

We can't be gentle forever, though.

Eventually this has to change.

* * *

It's all fun and games until I start killing people you actually like.

Anyway, do I have to do another hashtag to get me to 200 reviews? Pretty please, it was my birthday last Sunday? Does that work? But really, I know reviews have been close to death lately, so every single one, regardless of how many I get, means the world to me. Thank you very much for ever single one of them.

Until next time.


	28. Ghosts Of The Past

Arena, Early Morning, Day Six.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

"I thought you said you wanted a nap."

Seren cracks open an eye, staring at me from the bed. I knew she wasn't sleeping. All she's been doing for what feels like hours is tossing and turning and doing anything but sleeping. I guess I shouldn't be saying anything, considering I haven't been asleep very much either. The sky is just staring to turn gray at the edges; pretty soon the sun will be up, and then I'll have to kiss all chances of going to sleep goodbye.

"Feels weird," Seren mumbles into her pillow. I don't have to ask what's so weird. Half the time she spends 'sleeping' she's actually kicking Duke or bugging Meritt, who tends to sleep less than all of us anyway. It probably felt endlessly weird to her, when I did manage to sleep for a little bit. The silence, that is. It was never fully quiet with us.

"We'll be back with them tonight. Don't worry."

The worry is unspoken, though. There are so many hours between now and then, so many things that could go wrong. In a perfect world, we'd meet up tonight and Alana would be dead. Somehow I don't think perfect fits very well into our vocabulary.

"You should keep talking," Seren states.

"Why?"

"Because your voice will put me to sleep."

I can't help but give her the finger, and even though she's only half-paying attention, she still smiles.

"I'm kidding," she laughs lightly. "I'm listening, really. Just makes it seem less quiet in here."

There's really nothing to talk about, though. Hey, remember that time Alana punched me in the face and I had to spend an extra twenty minutes with my prep team for them to cover it up? That was pretty awesome. Remember that time Cerise almost killed you? Even better.

"I've got a sister," I settle on. "And she's almost as big of a shithead as you."

"That's touching," Seren deadpans. "Really. What's her name?"

"Emori. And believe me, it's as touching as touching can be. She's always pulling shit because she knows I can't be angry at her, because half the time I end up smiling even though I know I should be angry. It's ridiculous."

Seren's still got that half-smile on her face, the one that wants to laugh but won't. It's so easy to forget that she's killed two people, that she'd probably do it again in a heartbeat to save either of us. It's so easy, and I wouldn't have it either way.

"You know, you should learn how to say that in a less fond tone. It's ruining your image."

"My macho man image, right, I forgot. It'll ruin me in the end."

Seren's look turns thoughtful. "Maybe it's a good thing I'm the youngest. Younger siblings sound like pain in the asses."

From what I've heard of her two apparently older brothers during training, they're just a larger version of a pain in the ass, one that can also conveniently beat someone up if they need beating up. I can only imagine what they're like in person; if they're anything like her, they could probably put me in my place just as quick as she already can. Would I rather have that, or an annoying little sister?

I did have that, though.

"What's wrong?" Seren questions. I turn my eyes back to her. I hadn't even noticed I had spaced out.

"Besides the obvious?"

" _Shut up._ Out with it. What's wrong?"

This isn't usually something that comes up. It's just another one of those terrible things that happen in Six that no one cares about until it happens to them. Until it happened to me. There's a reason no one talks about it, why me and Emori don't talk about it. No one likes talking about the shittier aspects of their life.

"I had a brother," I say, before I can convince myself not to. "When my Mom died, he was eighteen. Old enough to take care of me and Emori, at any rate. And he probably could have. Sure, raising a thirteen and eight year old probably wasn't the life he was dreaming of, but that's just what he did. Protected us even if we didn't need it. And then one day a few weeks later he was just ... gone. Left for work one morning and never came back."

And there it goes, the hole somewhere deep in my chest being ripped right back open, the blood spilling out before I can stop it. It took so long to stitch the hole back up in the first place, to accept that I was thirteen and had a baby sister to take care of and no one else cared. Sure, we found the home eventually, and Maura basically adopted us, but it didn't all just magically disappear when that happened.

The only thing that disappeared was my brother. It's like life slapping me in the face all over again.

Seren doesn't say that she's sorry, and I'm eternally grateful. I've heard it so many times, in different forms and from different people. What she does do is scramble off the bed in the least graceful tangle of limbs I've ever seen from her and invade every ounce of personal space I thought I had. There was barely any room left on the chair as is and now she's taking up all of it, wrapping her arms tight around my shoulders.

Silence really is rare with us and it feels even worse now.

"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" Seren murmurs. I tighten my hands around her back, just as tight as she's got me. It's enough of an answer.

I do know that, though. I've watched it happen so many times, people leaving me. My brother and now Meritt and Duke, and it just keeps happening. Seren would be the last straw, and trying to survive past that isn't something I can imagine doing. Not on my own.

I know I don't give myself enough credit sometimes, but the future's looking pretty bleak.

Life's been tossing me around from the start. I don't know why I'm so surprised now.

All I know is that I can't let it happen one last, awful time.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

I'm getting haunted by a damn number.

I can still see it clear as day, the sword getting plunged straight through Iridium's chest by a Career that doesn't even have a face to me anymore. All that mattered was the blood, and the shock on her face and how it only took a matter of seconds for her eyes to go dead before she went sliding off the end of the sword.

Fourteenth place.

And now Kian ... just like that, before I even saw what was happening.

Fourteenth _fucking_ place.

The only plus side is that Kole's managed to break out of her mostly catatonic state. The negative is that I've decided to take it up, basically refusing to talk to her verbally because I'm sure nothing good will come out. She's not even really trying though either. We're just sitting cross-legged on the floor, the two of us in one of those back storage rooms. The lone lightbulb in the middle of the room is buzzing incessantly. The temptation to throw something at it, to shatter it and destroy our only light source, is getting stronger.

There's barely even a thought in my mind that I just killed someone, that there's no blood on my hands but that doesn't matter. Caving someone's chest in will kill them anyway, and you can walk away almost scotch free. Almost, if it weren't for Kian.

"I shouldn't have gone anywhere," I finally manage. Kole looks up in surprise. If that doesn't say volumes about how I've been acting since the sun went down, nothing else will. She's probably gotten used to not saying anything.

"You were what, fifty feet away? There was no point in all three of us being right next to each other, no way we could've known," Kole replies weakly. That's not gonna make me feel any better, though. I walked away to look at something else, two minutes of my life that I'll never get back, and didn't get back quick enough. Now Kian's dead and I've killed someone and I'm not quite sure how to process all of that.

"What happened with Sinora?"

I barely even know what happened with Sinora. I saw her, I saw my allies, and reacted. I thought she was going to jump out of the shadows and kill them before I got there. It was different, when I grabbed her. She didn't try to fight. All she did was grab my arms, giving her the precious few seconds she needed, to tell me that her ally was going to kill mine and she could help me.

I had looked up, her hands locked around my arms, and all I remember seeing was Kian falling, blood spewing from the gaping hole in his throat.

My body went on auto-pilot. I had left Sinora without a second though, ran towards where Kole was tangled with the Nine girl, and tried to fix it. And Sinora was true to her word, in the end. She helped me kill her. I could've done it on my own, but she was still there, like she needed to lay claim to it as well.

"Larz?"

I blink at Kole, aware that my stare probably isn't the most reassuring. If her own eyes are anything to go by, red-rimmed and hollow, I don't look much better.

When I watched Iridium die it was like I was witnessing it through some sort of filter, like it was so far-away and make believe that it wasn't actually real. But her allies were screaming and the Career didn't care and she got brought back to Three in a black coffin with a sewed-up trench in her chest. With Kian, it was different. It's like everything focused in on that exact moment with horrifying clarity.

Every time I close my eyes it's Iridium and then Kian and finally Mireya, and their faces are changing so fast they're almost unrecognizable.

Kole shifts to my side, not bothering again with saying my name. She rests back against the wall until she's comfortable and then tips her head onto my shoulder. Her eyes are closed, but I don't imagine she's sleeping. We haven't slept since yesterday, but the exhaustion I feel isn't tiredness. It's that feeling that settles deep in your bones when you realize that it's hopeless, that nothing matters.

Even after Iridium died, I channeled everything I felt into something just a notch less than rage. I put all of that feeling into something purposeful, into training, into hating my own family for casting her aside like she had been nothing, like she hadn't ever existed. She was my sister and all of a sudden she was gone and I just wasn't supposed to care.

It's called coping, and that was my particular method. It doesn't matter if it was healthy or not, just that I got through it.

But there's no name for what happens when you realize it was all for nothing.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I can't help but feel like we missed something and it's my fault.

I kept Abel in an elevator for hours, not letting him go, and now I feel dumber than ever.

All he found was a flashlight. It was useful, until the lights came back on, and we used it all night just in case, but was that really it? Did they really trap us there for over a day just for a flashlight? They never do things for a purpose that trivial, and now we have absolutely no clue how to get back there.

So what did we miss?

Abel doesn't think we missed anything. After all, he would probably know. He walked further in than I did and saw more, did more than I did, which isn't saying all that much, but it still counts. All he found was that damn flashlight, which is now in my hand anyway. If I wasn't scared to screw something up, I'd wave the light around just to screw with him.

Sun's going up soon anyway. Won't need it then.

I don't even know where we are. We've moved a lot, but I've mostly just been trailing after Abel, following him because I don't care where we go and it's something he can do on his own. Occasionally he'd look at me, mouth already half-open to ask a question about where we should go, but he'd snap it shut just as quick as he opened it.

We walked past a photo gallery a few minutes ago, pictures of happy, smiling families hanging from the wall. It made my heart ache, for a second. I miss my Dad, my friends, and the chances of me ever seeing them are slim to none. Them telling me to win only works if I'm willing to do it, and right now I can't imagine killing anything with my bare hands.

Then again, neither did Abel, and he still killed Viscaria. Even if it _was_ an accident, he still did it.

I guess nothing's impossible.

Abel stops at one of the directories stationed smack dab in the middle of the corridor while I glance around. There's restaurants and patios and flowers and trees, and if I concentrate hard enough I could pretend I'm back in Seven, with the birds singing in the background. I even miss the never-ending sound of the buzzsaws out in the lumber-yards, and I'm pretty sure everyone complained about those.

I'm sweeping the flashlight around the darkest corners of the area when something flashes back at me.

I still my arm. Abel, still looking at whatever, doesn't even notice. I sweep the flashlight across the area again and sure enough I see the glint again, only taking a second more to realize it's the glint of a pair of eyes, attached to a mutt close to seven feet tall with talons half the length of my face. To say my heartbeat stutters is an understatement. It almost stops.

I've never seen one of them up close. My brain has done plenty of imagining, trying to put a face to those noises, but somehow it's never come up with something like this. I'm pretty sure my head couldn't come up with that for a million years.

And Abel's still staring at the stupid _map_.

"Abel," I hiss. He starts, nearly stepping back into me. The sudden reappearance of my voice, a concerned one at that, is enough to make him look at me and then follow my gaze. He makes a noise, somewhere between concern and downright terror, and goes as still as I already am.

"What do we do?" He asks, like I have the faintest clue. Neither of us have dealt with them head-on, but for whatever reason, it's not moving. I've still got the flashlight shining directly at it's face and it just stares owlishly in our direction, almost as un-moving as we are.

Abel grabs my arm, probably ready to move back, and it's enough for the light to waver off the mutt's face by inches. That's when it moves.

There's nowhere to go.

Using his grip on my arm, Abel takes me with him when he flings himself back. The mutt crashes into the directory stand instead, ripping it out of the ground in one fell swoop. Bits of tile and cement go scattering in the air, showering us in dust. It screeches, just like it always does when it's really pissed off, and swings it's head back and forth frantically through the cloud of dust, searching us out.

I take back what I said about not being able to kill anything. I might have to make an exception for this.

I grab the axe off of my back and scramble behind the ruins of the directory with Abel a second behind me. I shove the flashlight into his hands and keep moving. He's no doubt freaking out in the way he does, wondering what the hell I'm doing, and I can only hope he gets it.

I forgot just how tall the thing actually was. It's staring off in the opposite direction as I haul myself on top of what little of the directory is even left after it got smashed into the ground. But it gives me that little bit of height I need, the height that will carry me to it.

It sees me. That I expected. I'm too close for it _not_ to see me. But seeing the claws and the milky eyes and the bones protruding every which way, limbs misshapen, I almost back up. Almost.

And then Abel _throws_ the flashlight at it.

I don't know whether to yell or frankly kill him, because that definitely wasn't the plan, but the mutt screeches as the flashlight strikes it in the chest, and one of it's massive hands swipes around to grab it, its head turning to seek it out. That's all I needed. I stretch out with the axe gripped tight in my hands, waiting until it turns around fully, and then I bury the blade in it's skull.

The dying screeches barely reach my ears through the roaring in my head, but I feel the splatter of brain and god knows what along my shoes, along with the black blood leaking everywhere, and that's enough to confirm it.

It's corpse falls to the ground, almost taking my axe with it, but I manage to hold on.

Abel is staring at me in disbelief, watching as the flashlight rolls to a halt a few feet away.

"It ... it's completely blinded by the flashlight. And you threw it away."

"I panicked," Abel supplies weakly.

"Yeah. Figured that out."

He finally pulls me off of the wreckage. My arms and legs were so shaky I'm grateful he did; I wouldn't trust myself to be able to stand normally on my own. I just killed one of them. Abel just distracted it long enough for me to kill it, to take it down almost like it was nothing. I was terrified, blood ice cold in my veins, and I still did.

And maybe it's not a person, maybe it'll never be a person, but ...

It's something.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

It's almost like I barely know who I am anymore.

I really did think things could be different. I told Kinnon that. I told her that I wanted to change, that I didn't want to keep stabbing people in the back, that I was done with that. But that was before the terror I felt when Larz grabbed me, when I realized he was going to kill me, and I realize you never survive unless you're a terrible person.

I didn't even care about Kinnon in that moment.

When I screamed at him to stop, I didn't know if it would work. But it did. And now I'm sitting here, completely alone, the only two allies I had dead because I helped kill both of them.

Phil must be killing himself laughing back home.

There were so many times when I wanted to prove him wrong. I couldn't be that girl that dragged people into alleyways, that pulled sheep into the slaughter. That was just what I did to survive. I guess I am that girl. Now I'm just doing it without his help, without the back-up of Peacekeepers, but it's still because I just want to survive. It still doesn't change the look in Kinnon's eyes when the realization flooded in, when she realized I was going to kill her.

Her eyes were still open when I left her body.

Kole told me to leave. And I did. But I followed them, all the way down to the eleventh floor, and I still don't know why. Not because I wanted to kill them; I'm pretty sure I've had enough of that lately. Because I wanted to make sure they were okay? Maybe. But I have no right to do that. I didn't stop Kinnon from killing their ally. I was going to help her, before things went south, even though I didn't want to.

I waited a far distance away while they locked themselves in one of the back storage hallways and then stuck myself in the room across from them, locking the door myself so I could press my back against it. I could barely hear them for a bit, they were talking so quietly, but it's since gone silent.

I shouldn't care. I don't even know _why_ I care. I'm fine with being alone any other day of the week, but right now the silence is so crushing it's like I can feel myself collapsing under the weight of it. Back in Eleven, after all the things I did, at least I had a family to go back to. We weren't perfect, but it was something. It was noise and it was occasional laughter and even smiles from Sabrine when she was in a good enough mood.

Right now, I just want to close my eyes and go to sleep and pretend all of this never happened. I want to wash the blood off my hands. I want to give up, and that just makes me a hypocrite. People don't give up around me. I yell at them to keep going, encourage them that it's worth it, except I've never been in quite this situation, have I?

Maybe I followed Kole and Larz because that's what I wanted. They're friends, they care about each other, they wouldn't turn on each other if someone held a knife to their throat. They deserve to live, to be okay, because no matter what they do they're still good people at the core.

I don't think I could ever be a good person. A long time ago the thought would have saddened me.

By now, though, I've accepted it. You can't be a good person after all of the things I've done.

I could die. I could let myself die. They'd probably kill me, if I asked. Anybody in here would. But then what was the point of me doing everything I did in Eleven, of me killing Arella and Kinnon? I fought so hard to survive that giving up doesn't even seem right. Even though death seems like the better option, in the long run it'll only make things worse than I left them.

That's exactly why I can't.

My parents are still counting on me. Sabrine is still counting on me, and I don't want to imagine what will happen to her if I don't win. They'll drag her in just like they did to me. I want to be able to wipe the smug look off of Phil's face when I get off the train, to get the life and house that we've always deserved, to not be scraping the bottom of the barrel just to get by.

I spent so long being scared of the person I was.

But I'm not scared anymore.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

I'm so fucking bored it physically hurts.

There's no one to fight. They won't send the mutts after me because they're afraid of me letting myself slip, and if that happens I could get hurt. What good is their perfect little murder machine if she's hurt? Not much.

It didn't stop them from letting a mutt hurt me already, or from letting Larz attack me. I'm still pissed about that.

Kian's face was in the sky last night, though, and sue me if it brought a smile to my face. He should've been dead the first day, at my hands, and I should have made it hurt. Seeing Elias' face made me laugh out-loud. I can't help but wonder if he died on his own or if someone was forced to do it. There's so many of them crawling around at this rate that it's hard to even bet on who would have done it.

If one of them did it than that still leaves my kill count at a sad, measly _one_ , and it just so happened to be the easiest person in this place to kill.

Someone better show up here, and quick. I'm gonna go track them down at this rate, and they'll like that even less than just finding me themselves.

I tap my finger against the microphone just to hear the noise, to check that it's still working. Of course they all heard my biggest announcement, but there's no harm in driving it home, is there?

Besides, it's like I said. I'm _bored_. And it's better than just sitting here, spinning in aimless circles in my chair. I'll break it soon, and somehow I doubt the Gamemakers will send me a replacement for it. They'll let me sit on the floor just to reward me with a bit of humility and we can't have that, now can we?

I flick the switch on, watch the light go to green, and then pick up the microphone.

Even the hum of the machine as it turns on is satisfying.

"Guess who's back!" I shout as enthusiastically as I can. The noise is so loud it's no doubt going to startle some of them out of their early morning sleep, but I could give less of a shit currently. No one should be sleeping through this. Of course, everyone who's awake probably already knows just who's back, but I have to give them the appropriate amount of time to make sure of it. There's no drama to it if I don't.

"As everyone has seen, I'm still alive!" I announce. "A shame for all of you, really. I'm sure it would be a hell of a lot easier if I just disappeared, but things don't work like that. Someone's gotta come and try their luck."

Is anyone actually stupid enough to come and try, though, other than my dear Career friends? The real question is, could I kill all four of them if they came at me at once? Maybe, maybe not. Either way it'd be a spectacular show, with more blood than the audience is probably expecting, but that's just how I like it. We all deserve to go out with a bang.

"I promise you," I insist. "I'm not even hiding! No traps, no tricks, just come and find me, and maybe we'll talk. Who knows."

What could everyone out there possibly be thinking? Maybe that I'm crazy, but I'm sure they already thought that. It's a cool reputation to have, being the biggest bad in the arena, the one person people don't want to cross that outmatches even the Careers.

I wonder if Slade would be proud. He's the one who taught me how to steal, how to kill, how to make people stop screaming for fear of being caught and how to make them scream louder because you had time to spare. Really, he's the big brother everyone in this world should have. Maybe then everyone wouldn't be so scared, so prone to crying when stuff like this happened.

I can't help but laugh a little under my breath. No doubt everyone can hear it. It probably wouldn't be as fun if they didn't cry, if they didn't try to run. Slade taught me that too.

"Don't make me wait too long guys," I finish. "Or I might have to start searching."

It's too easy to imagine ripping them out of their hiding places, away from their allies, but my break's gotta come soon. I wouldn't still be sitting here if I wasn't going to get one. I just need to take a deep breath, calm down, and realize that they'll give me what I want eventually, whether it's Kal or anyone else in this damn arena.

They better do it quickly, though.

My patience is starting to wear thin.

* * *

I might as well start a trope collection: Six kids with awful family history, a must-have relationship between at least one Ten and one Four, and Two guys that are apparently always sketchy.

But besides that.

Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes and thanks even more for the 200+ reviews! I have had multiple questions about a third SYOT though, and I've been contemplating it, but I'd like to know who would actually be interested in it. The community's dwindling a bit but I think I've still got it in me for one more if people are into it.

Until next time.


	29. Do Not Go Gentle

Arena, Day Six.

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

I don't know what emotions I'm supposed to be feeling.

A day to get over it. That should be enough, right? Over a day now, in fact. Yet I still can't shake that lingering feeling of death, of the fact that Elias should be alive, and that Alana somehow still is.

It's not that I expected to just stumble upon her, sitting out in the open, but anything would be better than walking in circles, dragging my feet along the ground and just hoping. Hoping isn't the right word. Never in my right mind should I want to fight Alana, or even be anywhere near her. But if she can do that much damage in a matter of minutes only time will tell how long she waits to do it again.

Somehow, I think at least trying to kill her quickly will be better than her long-term plans.

Alone, she'd destroy me. I'm not stupid enough to think I'd win. With Meritt, though, I think we could beat her.

It occurs to me that I've never really seen him fight. There's no way Lynn counts. That was over so quickly I barely registered it. Even without having seen it though, I know he's better than she is. Sure, the eleven helps my imagination a lot, but it's not even that. He could kick her ass a lot faster than even she's probably aware of. All I'll have to do is stand there, intervene when I have to, and kill her.

If only it would go that simply.

I barely remember what Alana said about Meritt; there were things on my mind then that seemed more significant at the time. There's still that seed of doubt in the back of my mind though, even though he's just behind me and he hasn't complained, hasn't said anything against trying to find her. If only I knew what that sliver of doubt was trying to tell me.

I'm getting more frustrated by the minute. Apparently, I can't figure anything out. I don't know what Meritt's thinking, and I don't know where Alana is, and I don't know how to make the feeling of anger in me go away because of all of it.

It has more to do with Elias than I thought. Out of everyone left, I cared the most. That sure doesn't help me mentally.

"Duke."

It takes me a second to register that Meritt isn't continuing. I look over my shoulder at him, but he's staring almost vacantly somewhere to my left. Listening.

I'll be the first to say I didn't think this boat couldn't get any more ridiculous, and then they put an art gallery in it. It's like a mini version of the museums back in the Capitol, with paintings and drawings hanging on the walls and statues bolted to the floors by their bases. The walls are white and the floor is marble and the ceilings are so high it shouldn't even be possible in a place like this.

It's also so spacious and empty that sound bounces off the walls like nobody's business. That's when I hear the voices.

It's more than one voice, and I'm just assuming someone's responding. The other is so quiet I can only catch it occasionally, but it's definitely a voice, and they're coming closer.

I throw a glance at Meritt. He stares back, impassively, and then takes the hatchet out of his belt.

Alright then.

They must've come in through the exit. There's so many walls and dividers that I can hardly tell what direction they're going to come towards us from. I shift closer to Meritt, closer to the nearest opening. My feet make no sound against the floor. They can't. It's a miracle they didn't hear us when Meritt said my name, as quiet as it was.

The second their voices become louder it all clicks into place.

It's the Eights.

Erna was always louder, more vocal, and Rover paled in comparison. He never stood out next to her. And ever since I watched Kiero Mearlove put a sword in my sister's throat, I've made a point of remembering the Eights. I never knew why until now.

That anger I'm feeling, it's the exact same way I felt after Estelle died. It's the desire to make someone feel the same way I'm feeling because no one will understand otherwise. Right now, the two of them are maybe fifty, a hundred feet away, and I have the opportunity. They're not his family, but they're his District. _His_ tributes and they've made it almost halfway completely intact.

Meritt took the hatchet out as a precautionary. Maybe him and Alana do have something in common, but it's not the bloodlust to go after random, unsuspecting people just because he's bored of his current situation. When I take my sword out, put a knife in my other hand, it's not a precautionary.

I leave Meritt's side and put myself directly into the open. Their voices are still getting louder, still echoing around the room. They're probably about to walk into the same section we're in. Maybe they'll hesitate, maybe they won't.

"Where are you going?" Meritt asks quietly. He's still out of sight, hidden behind the wall. It's not accusatory. He knows I'm about to be an idiot, but he at least wants an explanation. I owe him that.

I'm going to stand here, and they're going to walk in, and Erna will have no choice. She doesn't run from fights and I've spent too long being miserable, being powerless in every situation I'm in.

I'm done just sitting by while everything flies past me.

"To make him feel it."

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

"I still don't get why we had to come down here."

Erna gives me a deploring look. "I told you, I couldn't sit in there for any longer. Plus, we can go back tonight and check on the computer if you really want. There was no one down here when we left, and I'm nosy."

That doesn't mean there isn't anyone down here _now_ , but Erna doesn't seem to care. She isn't afraid of anything, and I'm not about to blurt anything out about how I'd prefer to lock myself away until this is all over. There's no way Erna would ever do something like that, and I couldn't make her.

" _Rover,_ " she sighs. "I promise you we'll go back later, alright? Just trust me."

She knows I trust her. She shouldn't have to ask. Ever since we left, though, I've had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it's just the lack of relative safety, or maybe it's because all I have left of the computer is the scribbles in my notebook.

This place does seem nice, though. I've never seen an art gallery before, but it's pretty enough. I don't really get the appeal of spending hours of your time staring at these things, but to each their own. Erna doesn't really seem to appreciate it either, but she's still poking at some of the statues and sparing a quick glance at some of the explanations attached to them.

So it's no surprise, really, when we walk way too casually into the next room, distracted like no other, and almost completely ignore the Career standing at the other end. There's just enough dried blood on the sword in his hand that I panic, enough of it splattered on his white coat that it's worse. The colour startles me.

Erna almost yelps out of sheer shock, seeing something living and breathing amidst everything that's not. It only fazes her for a split second before her own sword is in hand, pointed directly towards him. She looks back towards me expectantly, and I can see the question in her eyes. _You have a weapon. Are you going to take it out? Are you going to use it?_

I take my knife out. I wouldn't be threatening even if my hands weren't shaking like a leaf, not for a thousand years.

Erna still has it in her to smile. That's just how she is.

"This has got to be some sick revenge fantasy, doesn't it?" She laughs. "I get it, believe me. It's the whole "he killed my sister" spiel, isn't it?"

That makes him react, but just barely. You can see the anger in his eyes from across the room.

"Well, _I_ didn't kill your sister. And neither did Rover here. So what are you really trying to do?"

He doesn't answer. There's no reason for him to be talking to us; Erna's just trying to rile him up, make him move first, and he does. He moves the sword in his hand just a bit, takes the smallest step forward, and that's all it takes.

I don't know who gets to who first. I'm still standing there when their swords meet, somewhere in the middle, and it's the angry screech of their weapons that makes me run towards them. I don't know if I can do anything, don't know if I will, but I at least have to be there. I dart past another one of the statues. Erna throws a punch at him with her free hand, brass knuckles gleaming in the air, but he's not Magne. He knows how to avoid it, and she misses him by what seems like a mile.

I'm almost there, dead set on grabbing her and just getting her away, when someone grabs me instead.

My mind goes so blank just out of sheer confusion that I don't even fight it.

I get thrown back against one of the bigger statues, pain exploding all along my back, and come face to face with the Two guy.

The blood on his white coat. That's why it startled me. Red and white together, two dots on the map. They've been together, the two of them, since last night. And I forgot. My brain is too busy racing, thinking about the stupid colours, to really make sense of the knife.

That is, until he stabs me with it.

I can feel it, though, in my side, twisting through my skin. Someone screams, and it's definitely not me. The One guy yells something and Erna screams again, and that's when the Two guy whirls away, forgetting about me. He leaves the knife, though, somewhere in my side, and all I can think is that he wasn't finished. It missed my kidney. He wasn't done.

I can't even stand through the pain and I slump to the base of the statue. Erna finally managed to hit the One guy. There's a jagged tear along his jaw, blood dripping down his neck, but it's the deep gash in Erna's chest that catches my eye, and the blood covered knife in his hand. Her entire shirt is soaked in blood.

I know why she screamed, now. She'll bleed out if it's not fixed.

I lurch to my feet and nearly throw up with how bad it hurts, grabbing yet another statue for support. I can't even take a step forward without tears burning my eyes.

The Two guy's on her now too. He grabs the collar of her jacket, probably just to give his ally some room. It's Erna that turns around though, not even waiting for him. She drops her own sword, grabs the arm he has on her, right around the elbow, and twists.

The _snap_ just barely manages to reach my ears. Erna screams, more full of rage than actual pain, and the Two guy's still got a knife using the arm that Erna didn't just fucking _break_ with her bare hands, and when he hauls himself back up and shoves it into her chest I'm still just standing there.

That's what sends me back to the ground.

There's blood splattered all over the white floor and on the white walls and it's all so bright it's hurting my eyes. The Two guy rips the knife back out, and then there's more blood. Lots of it. He would look okay himself if his arm wasn't just dangling limply by his side, but it's like he barely notices. It's the One guy that's staring in shock, blood slick on his face, and it's him that gets them to leave. He grabs the Two guy's uninjured arm and they leave a trail of destruction in their wake, leave the two of us lying there dying.

I'm not dying, though. Not unless I let myself. But Erna ...

The burning in my eyes is real tears now, slipping down my face. I drag myself across the floor towards her and she turns her head towards me, hands trembling against her chest and blood on her lips.

"F-Fix that, hey?" She whispers, and she's staring at the knife in my side. "You can. I know you can."

By the time I get there, by the time I get anywhere close, her hands are still and her eyes are glazed over.

I can't help the strangled scream that escapes my throat and I grab her shoulder, her hands, anything I can fully grasp.

"Please, please, please," I sob, my voice barely sounding like me. "Don't be dead, _please_ , I can't do this, I can't do this."

I can't do this on my own. I'm not meant to do this on my own. I can't.

" _Please._ "

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

We're being followed.

It's got to be Sinora. I haven't seen anyone, but I just know. I thought I'd been hearing things, and I thought maybe it was just the sleep deprivation telling me I could hear things through the walls, but I think it's _someone_.

I should probably tell Larz, but he's got enough to deal with mentally as is. I don't know how he'll react. Hell, I don't even know how I'm supposed to react. Obviously, she's not out to get us, or she would have already. It's not like we've been up to fight the past little bit. Even with two of us, she would've won. It's clear to see.

That desire to chase her down is gone. It faded away the second I sat down and re-evaluated the situation. She didn't want this anymore than we did, but it happened anyway. That's just how things are in here. It's moment after moment of terrible things with no way to stop any of them.

The lack of sleep really isn't helping. Larz only slept for an hour or two this morning and I spent the whole time with my eyelids glued open because I couldn't will them to close. At first it was because I wanted to make sure he was actually sleeping. God knows how much he needs it. After a while I knew it was also because I couldn't sleep even if I was dead on my feet.

I feel that way now, to be honest. But I know we can't just sit any longer; it's not helping us. Sitting quietly like that just traps us in our thoughts, and that's worse than moving on and only talking occasionally, even if we don't want to.

If I could just shake the feeling of having to look over my shoulder every two seconds, I'd be alright.

When I said I don't think she was going to kill us, I was telling the truth. But it's still downright creepy, and me not telling Larz means I need to keep an eye on her without any help.

It's not that I think she's posing any danger. I'm just scared, and I hate feeling like that. I just can't get the image of Kian's dead eyes staring back at me, and once I step into that territory it's too easy to imagine it being Larz instead. It's the worst thing to imagine. Larz, who looks for all his faults, completely invincible no matter where he goes, who killed someone yesterday and is still going, who has lost too much yet refuses to shut down.

Maybe this alliance was just a dumb idea from the start. We're all screwed up in our own right, and now neither of us can walk away.

I don't even know where he's leading me because I've been looking more back than forward. Up is pretty much the only direction I've been keeping track of. It's not until I see the open air once again that it really clicks.

"Larz?" I ask. He props open one of the glass doors to the outside, leaning against it for a moment.

"I just ... wanted to see if there was anything left."

I can't help but swallow, clenching my hand, and then take the machete out of my belt. The last time we came up here something terrible happened, and maybe it's the memory of that that makes me more defensive than I should be. There's probably no one up here, not a second time. Coincidences like that just don't happen.

Larz hesitates to walk through the doors. He wanted to come up here, to finalize what happened, and then he wants to move on. _Really_ move on. It takes me going first for him to follow, though, because he's just as scared as I am.

There was a time when we may have been able to take on some of the Careers, did take them on, and we couldn't be further from that now.

There's almost nothing left to even tell something happened here last night. Upon first glance, the area is clean again, untouched. It's only when my feet touch the first of the steps that I see the stain the colour of rust spread out along the ground, right where Kian had been laying. There's more elsewhere, of course, but it's too easy to picture what we went through yesterday, to re-enact me just sitting there watching him die.

Larz puts a hand on my back. "This was a shitty idea."

It's not hard to agree. This isn't closure. The bodies got taken away, the weapons, the bags. If not for those stains on the ground you'd never know.

It's helping, though. I'm being forced to look at it, to accept it.

I wonder if Sinora's out here too, if she's watching from just behind us. I wonder if killing an ally is harder than losing one.

"Let's go," I murmur, and Larz doesn't protest.

As far as expeditions go, it was pointless. There's nothing left. But it helps us close this door, helps us end the chapter that we thought we'd be riding out for much longer than we did. Kian was better. We were together again. We were supposed to be okay.

I guess things never go the way you want them to.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

I still don't quite understand what happened this morning.

It would be a lot easier if I could just wrap my head around Glenn killing anything, even if it was just a mutt. He barely hesitated, either, just shoved me in a different direction and did it completely without my help. Sure, I distracted it for a second or two, but he could have done it without me.

I guess we got useful information out of it either way. The mutts don't like light. It should have been obvious, considering you never see them during the daytime, but now we can carry that light around and use it.

Glenn was wrong about one thing. We did find something useful on thirteen.

When I tell him that, though, he's still uncertain.

"We ran out of there so fast," he says. We ran out because of him, but I don't fault him for that. I know him and Arella weren't particularly close, but he liked her. Tried to be friends with her.

It was different when I saw Kinnon's face in the sky last night. We never got along. She stuck to me like velcro even when I tried to get rid of her, but that was because she _wanted_ us to get along. I kept pushing her away, kept shoving her back because I knew there was no way in hell it was going to work. But she tried, right up until the last day of training, to get me to agree to something. It was only when she gave up that she went looking for other allies.

I don't much of how her and Arella ended up together. All I do know is that both Glenn and I expected them to get much, much further than the two of us, and yet they're both dead.

When her face was in the sky, it was different. Glenn had looked at me sympathetically, trying to imitate what I had done for him, but it hadn't mattered. You were supposed to feel something when you lost your District partner, right? They were a piece of home, maybe not a familiar one, but she was still more Nine than the rest of them. My overabundance of emotions, though, for once in my life, didn't surface.

It sounds ... bad, when I put it like that. Kinnon was bubbly and generally happy, but she was also cut-throat and willing to do what she had to and she didn't care about who she trampled. She could've won.

I think it might have something to do with the fact that I feel closer to Glenn that I ever felt with her, and he's more a stranger than she was.

"You've got that funny look on your face again."

I side-eye Glenn. "Thanks for pointing it out."

It's probably that face I get when I'm thinking too hard. It's always his fault, whenever I do it, though I don't think he's realized it yet.

I care more about him than I ever thought I would, and it's been what, six days? He didn't even find me until the first night, and it took hours after that to even feel like I was meant to be with him. I killed one of his allies and he still wouldn't leave me the hell alone. He fought to keep me from running away from him; he fought this morning, in part, to protect me.

People don't usually go out of their way to protect me.

Gizelle would probably hit me if I said that out-loud, but my relationship with her is a two way street. We protect each other, even if I'm terrible at it and she'd probably punch someone before I ever did.

I haven't done anything for Glenn, don't know if I'll ever be able to do anything for him, and he just doesn't care.

He's staring at me, now, an amused expression on his face. Apparently whatever weird expression he saw before is still there. I glare at him instead.

In short?

Fuck feelings.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

"If I was Alana, where would I be?"

"Hopefully not standing right next to me."

I want to sigh, but the smile tugging at my lips wins out. As it always does, when Kal says something stupidly obvious. You'd think I'd gotten better at reigning it in since I met him, yet here we are.

"I'm _serious_ ," I insist. "Unless that cannon was hers, which I doubt, then she's gotta be somewhere."

I'm more scared of that cannon belonging to Meritt or Duke than I'll ever admit. I know they're perfectly capable, just as capable as we are, but the thought's still there. There's no way that could've been goodbye.

"If you want my honest answer," Kal says. "I have a feeling I already know where she is and I'm just avoiding it."

I raise an eyebrow. That probably would've been helpful a few hours ago. Ever since we left the room we've been wandering in circles, first on the third floor and then the fourth. On the other hand, I'm about two seconds from going back into the casino because I've got nothing better to do.

Apparently, my silence is enough of a response. Kal sighs.

"Well, the fifth floor is where the promenade is, right? Everything's centered around that specific area. If you were going to find anything like an announcement system, it'd probably be there. Unless it's on the bridge, but I don't remember seeing anything there, unless—"

"No, no, that make sense," I interrupt. "I mean, if everything's up there."

Up there. It's only one floor away. Kal sends a glance towards the ceiling, like Alana is going to drop down out of the vents.

I take a deep breath. No time like the present, and all that.

Kal really doesn't have a choice about following me. I'd never make him, but there's no way he'd ever let me go alone, especially if he's right. Especially after our talk this morning, he'd never accept that as a solution. He'd rather die with me trying to kill her than leave me to die alone. The selfish part of me hopes I go before he does, if that's the case. I don't want to watch it happen.

The second we set foot on the fifth floor I take both swords out. I don't feel anywhere near safe up there, and that's without knowing for sure Alana's even here. Kal nods towards the hallway extending in front of us. You can see the start of the promenade from here. It's made up of glass-walled shops and an endless amount of balconies and I can fucking see her from _here_. She's on the complete other side, but the motion of the spinning chair is clear to the eye. There's a grand staircase just behind her, railings twinkling with lights, that no doubt leads up to the sixth floor.

"I'm gonna throw up," Kal says eloquently.

"What you're going to do," I instruct. "Is go up to the sixth floor, cross over, and find that staircase.

Kal blinks. "Is it just me, or is there something wrong with your head?"

"We all agreed we needed an advantage. If I walk up to her alone she'll be paranoid. She'll be watching for someone else even if I tell her I'm alone. And she'll hesitate, and that might be enough. Even if it's not, you'll be over there by the time she shuts up anyway if you need to help."

"There is something wrong with your head," Kal confirms.

"Probably," I agree. "But we have to do this."

I recognize the look in Kal's eyes, because it's the same one I know I had when Meritt and Duke left us. It's not the last goodbye. We're better than this, and we'll figure this out, and we'll be back together before you know it. I didn't know if I believed it then, but I have to now.

"Go," I insist. Kal sends me a panicked look, one that's scared as well.

I shove him in the direction of the stairs before I can change my mind. " _Go_."

He closes his eyes, takes a deep shuddering breath, and heads up the stairs.

"Fuck," I mutter, as soon as he disappears. And I thought it was hard losing half of an alliance. All of it is worse. I know he's not far and I'll see him in a matter of minutes but it's still terrifying. I'd rather walk towards Alana with no weapons and try my luck than do this again.

The promenade's even nicer up close. There are no doors for me to open, no grand entrance. Alana's facing the other way. All I have to do is walk over there and tell her I'm here. That simple, that easy.

"Long time no see!" I call when I'm only halfway there. Alana stops suddenly, hands gripping tight at the armrests, feet slamming against the ground to stop herself. She looks over her shoulder at me, faltering only a second before her smile nearly splits her face in two.

For a moment she just keeps smiling, leisurely getting to her feet with a tomahawk in each hand.

"Where are the groupies?" She yells back. I stop at the last stand in the middle of the walkway, giving myself something to back into if I need it. Alana walks out from behind the desk sans backpack, just loaded with her weapons. There's a spear lying on the desk, one that looks suspiciously like the one Lynn, and then Elias once had.

"Lost, probably," I shrug. "Looking for you is no easy task. Guess I'm the lucky one."

I don't think she believes me. She tilts her head, the barest shade of a smile still on her face.

"You look like shit," I inform her, and I'm not even lying. There's dried blood on the hastily wrapped bandages around her shoulder, purple bruises turned green shading her entire face, and circles under her eyes that aren't from getting punched. She hasn't been sleeping; she's too restless. I look like a specimen compared to her.

"You were always good with the formalities," Alana laughs. "But you're gonna look even worse than me after this is done."

"Looking forward to it."

The smile falls off her face. The rage she experienced when she came back and found Cerise dead is present, only I'm the one left to face it. I chance a glance around her, towards the staircase. No Kal yet, or maybe he's just hiding and waiting for the prime moment to intervene. Hopefully he doesn't have to.

Hopefully.

"We gonna do this, or what?" I question. I _am_ managing to unsettle her. She thought she wouldn't have to look over her shoulder. She thought she'd be the one raring to go, not me. She never thought I'd be a match for her.

But I've been waiting for this almost as long as she has.

* * *

Blahblahblah I've run out of creative author's notes.

Apologies to the person I killed in this chapter, as always. And the person who submitted them. I enjoyed the ride while it lasted.

Thanks for the review, lovelies, and I hope I haven't hurt you or won't hurt you too bad in the near future. Lots is being set-up and I hope everyone continues to enjoy it. Even if you do yell at me. You know who you are though. Some people do it more than others.

Until next time.


	30. Swan Song

Arena, Evening, Day Six.

* * *

 **Alana Bedford, 17 years, District Six Female**

* * *

It's not gonna be pretty.

I don't want it to be pretty. I want to splatter her blood on the walls, I want to rip her limb from limb, and I want someone to be forced to watch it, to scream at me to stop, and there's no one _fucking here_.

There's gotta be someone else here. There's no way she'd come alone, she's not an idiot.

I glance in every direction possible even as I'm headed towards her, but there's nothing there. I've seen it all already. The only thing that's here is Seren and she's the only option I have and it will just have to fucking do for now. It'll satisfy the audience in the meantime, and it will do more than satisfy me, but I wanted to drag it out. It's no fun if there's no one here to watch.

Seren stands completely still as I approach her, a sword in each hand, and she doesn't even look scared.

I lunge at her with a wordless scream and the first tomahawk buries itself in the wooden vending stand just behind her. She ducks under the second one effortlessly, stepping off to the side like she's done it a million times. Because she has. But they don't train you to fight people like me. They're always unprepared for people like me.

The second time I charge at her she doesn't move. Her feet are planted firmly on the ground. She catches the blade of the tomahawk with one sword and then the other, but I only keep pushing forward, until our faces are inches apart. There's no goal with this, none at all, but it might help me catch the slightest glimpse of fear. The sword in her right hand wavers, just the slightest bit, and the tomahawk slips a centimeter closer to the center of her face.

I smile, and she smiles back.

The tomahawk in my left hand gets ripped free of my fingers when she twists her arm, catching the blades together, and she sends it flying across the promenade.

The smile slips off my face. That's when she moves first.

One of her swords slices clean through the skin above my collarbone, and when I look down for a moment all I see is the white of exposed bone, blood slipping down my chest, before the other sword rips open the flesh of my cheek.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Re-evaluate.

I duck away from her, putting some space between me and the damn swords. My other tomahawk is almost perfectly behind her, which means I need to go through her to get it back, and that I have no problems with that. I run straight at her as she stabs down towards my chest. The other sword is going to catch me in the arm, that I can see already, but I don't fucking care.

I smash into her stomach as, sure enough, the sword buries itself in my upper arm. Even as I take her to the ground she doesn't let go of it, digging deeper and deeper until I can feel it scrape against bone. The agony doesn't matter. I've had worse than this. Pain only matters if you let it and the only thing that matters right now is me beating her.

We're both kicking frantically and I punch her squarely in the face. She recoils as pain no doubt explodes across her nose and I punch again, until there's blood dripping down her face and a deep cut across her temple.

She spits a wad of blood in my face. Her sword is still lodged deep in my arm. Fuck it.

I yank myself backwards and drop my remaining tomahawk, wrapping my hand around the blade of the sword. It comes out of her hand easy enough, still sticking out of my arm, and I take the second of opportunity I have to rip it out, throwing it somewhere behind me. It skids across the floor, landing just in front of the glass-walled shop opposite us.

Seren headbutts me the second I turn back to her. She drags her legs out from under me, and it's only when she's five feet away do I realize that she took the tomahawk I dropped with her.

She stares at me, half-crouched on the ground with blood dripping out of her mouth, one of my weapons in her hand and one of them lying behind her.

What a bitch.

I could use the knife I have in my belt, but that's no defense. The sword that I threw is far, far enough away that she'd probably manage to catch up before I got there. I left Elias' damn spear on the top of the announcement desk, which is just as far, but she probably won't expect me to run that way.

I glance towards the desk.

The spear is gone.

What the _fuck_?

Seren's still staring at me, the perfect picture of calmness, but now that I stare back I can see the flicker in her eyes, the one that says she's not only watching me. I turn around, and Kal fucking Arker is ten feet away from the discarded sword, _my_ spear in his hand. They never go anywhere alone. I knew that, and I ignored it. I lunge across the promenade towards him; all I need is a few seconds, a few precious seconds and I'll get to him before Seren gets to me.

He knows I'm coming. He hurls the spear towards me and it goes sailing over my shoulder as I get closer. There's no time for him to get to the sword, and my hand locks around his wrist as he makes his last dive for it. All it takes is me getting my other hand on him, holding as tightly onto him as I can, and I hurl him backwards straight into the glass shop wall.

A shower of glass explodes across my vision as Kal goes flying through it, landing with a dull thud on the other side.

Seren crashes into my back.

I get a face full of glass for my troubles as she tackles me to the ground. The blade of a tomawhawk is digging deep into the back of my shoulder blade and I throw my elbow back, only just managing to graze her arm. I scramble, almost frantically, flipping myself half-onto my side, and knee her in the stomach. I grab the handle of the tomahawk over Seren's hand, trying to wrestle it away from her, and slam my knee into her once again.

She lets me have it, but she doesn't seem to care. She grabs a fistful of my hair, slamming my head back into the ground. More glass digs into the back of my neck, shards of it sticking into my skin. She keeps slamming my head back down, repeating and repeating it until I see stars, and all I can do is try and drag myself back through the broken glass with her attached to my legs, anything to just give myself a break. I drive the blunt end of the tomahawk into her ribs, hard enough that she's left gasping for breath and finally she has to recoil, the assault on her ribs too strong for her to last through it for long.

My head is ringing when I drag myself back to my feet, using the broken outline of the wall to drag myself up. The glass cuts into my hands and there's so much damn blood dripping onto the ground it's ridiculous.

Kal's still not moving. I don't know if he's unconscious or if a lucky shard of glass hit him right in the jugular.

Seren hauls herself up, wavering, only five feet away. Hopefully I broke some ribs. Her remaining sword is trembling in her hand but her fingers are locked white-knuckled around it. Her face is so bloody she looks like some sort of serial killer, but I can only imagine how I look. The gash in my arm is still leaking blood like a faucet and my shoulder is on fire and there's so much glass stuck in my cheeks it hurts to speak.

"I really didn't think you had it in you," I say anyway. "It's not over till it's over though, right?"

Seren swallows, trying to clear away some of the blood in her mouth, and looks at me like she has all the time in the world.

"I think it is."

 _Bang_.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

I watch as the bullet slams into Alana's back, half an inch from her spine.

There's no scream of terror, of agony. I don't even get to see her face. She collapses to her knees, her hands only just managing to break her fall completely. She twists, trying to look over her shoulder at me, and her face is the perfect picture of shock.

I'm on my hands and knees in a minefield of glass, one hand raised with a smoking, empty gun, and shock is the only thing on her face.

I can barely hold myself up, but I have to. I think I blacked out for a second when I got hurled through. I'm shaking so bad there was no way I'd have been able to hit her anywhere else.

Alana laughs, actually chuckles low and dark, rearing back off her hands until she's sagged to the ground on only her knees. Seren's only got one sword remaining, but it's all she needs. She raises it, just over her shoulder, and Alana holds a hand out towards her.

"Not even gonna give a girl her last words?"

"Fuck you," I manage, and she looks at me again, smiling like a maniac.

"I know when I'm beat," she concedes. "I can admit that. I guess the better man won."

 _Won_. All Seren has to do is bring the sword down and we won. It doesn't even seem real. The only thing that's telling me this isn't a dream is the pain.

"Let me just ask you something," Alana chuckles. "What happens now? What happens when the villain dies before anyone expected? Does everyone get to go home and be happy and play fair and square? No. It never happens like that. And I can guarantee you, whatever's coming is worse than me."

Seren stares at her, and then me. I nod, and I can't even help it when I close my eyes.

I can still hear it with perfect clarity, though. Hear it as the sword slices through skin and bone and veins and the thud as Alana's head hits the floor. It's only another moment before her body follows, tipping over sideways. The glass shifts under her body, scratching against the tile.

I still can't open my eyes. The gun drops out of my grip, clattering onto the floor, and I rest my head against my forearms, still shaking. I listen as Seren crosses over to me, painfully slow, and sags down to the ground next to me, ignoring the mess all around us. She drops her own head down against my back, wrapping one of her arms around me.

The shaking won't stop but I sit up as best as I can, turning until I can wrap my arms back around her. It probably hurts, how tightly I'm holding her, but she doesn't complain. I make myself open my eyes, finally, just to prove that this is real. Seren's still covered in blood, head on my shoulder, and my whole body still feels like it's on fire and Alana's headless corpse is lying just off to our left.

"Holy shit," I breathe finally. "You did it, holy _shit_."

Seren sits back, even though I've still got a hold on her. Her face looks even worse up close.

"You have glass stuck in your face," she says wearily, like I couldn't already feel it.

Duke and Meritt are probably already up on the bridge waiting for us, but I don't think I can move. We'll get there, eventually. All that matters right now is that we did it, that we're both alive, that no matter how terrible we look it can be fixed. We'll find a way to get through this, to make it better. We always do.

Alana's _dead_ , and I never thought I'd be alive to see that day.

"We should go," Seren murmurs, but she still hasn't let go either. Neither of us move, for a long moment, staring exhaustively into empty space.

It still doesn't feel real.

"You're okay," I whisper, just to solidify it once more. "We're okay."

She nods against my neck, although it barely passes as such. The nap that she said she needed last night is so much more real now.

But we're okay.

We did it.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 16 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

"Abel."

There's no noise from the other side of the bed. There's still light filtering in through the curtains, bright enough with the setting sun that there's absolutely no way Abel is asleep.

"Abel, cut it out. You're not asleep," I insist.

"Yes I am."

I keep trying not to smile, but it's getting harder. When I said it didn't feel right to, after that first day, I was telling the truth. But it's the person I am. I have to look for the good in something, I have to be optimistic because that's all I have to cling to in here. And, despite it all, Abel's been helping. I thought being around him might end up being a stupid decision, because he was only going to no doubt remind me of what has happened and what has yet to, but I can only imagine how awful it would be if I had been alone this whole time.

"I don't even know how you _can_ sleep," I complain, because it's hard to as is, and that's ignoring the fact that it's still decently light out. Every time I hear a noise I'm convinced something's going to eat me, and sometimes the silence is even worse.

Abel's gone oddly still beside me. "Yeah. Me neither."

It takes me a little bit, but it's the same reason I didn't feel like I could smile. How dare Abel sleep after killing someone? How can he feel okay enough that acting like a normal human being is acceptable? It's ridiculous that we keep feeling like this, only there's no other option.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," I murmur. He sighs, still facing away from me.

"I know. Doesn't make it any less shitty."

The thing is, how much worse can it get? He's only killed one person, and I've killed a mutt, for god's sake. That's nothing. If either of us plan on getting out of here, then we're going to have to do things ten times worse than that. If by chance we end up in the final few, the other people left aren't just going to sit back and let me win because I think I'm a good person. They won't care.

Abel's still silent, but he's definitely staring, wide-awake at the opposite wall. At this point it's like I can tell. I kick my foot out until it manages to hit him.

"Go to sleep. For real this time. I'll stay up for a bit."

He scoffs, trying to muffle it into the pillow, but I hear it loud and clear. I kick him again, and now I can tell he's almost smiling. It's better than whatever he was slipping back into before. Sometimes I worry that he'll slip into that permanently, that he'll just hate himself for the rest of his life, whether he dies a few days from now or in sixty years. I can't imagine a life that desolate, that empty. Maybe that's why I cling to hope.

"I'll go to sleep," Abel mutters. "If you stop kicking me."

"Sleep on the floor if you're going to complain all night."

Abel is halfway off the bed, hell-bent on taking all of the blankets with him, before I grab him. Even with me grabbing him he still pulls himself back up mostly on his own. It's his laugh that startles me. I only just manage to wipe the shock on my face before he turns around to look at me.

"Didn't wanna sleep on the floor anyway," he says, making it look like he only said it so he would stop laughing. "Looks uncomfortable as fuck down there."

I smile and lean back against the wall as he resumes his position, still somehow managing to take all of the blankets. It is a little chilly in here, but it's no worse than Seven ever got in the winter. Besides, I really don't plan on sleeping. Even locked away it's probably better that one of us stays up and keeps watch. We've both seen things happen in a blink of an eye and I don't want it to happen again.

Abel falls asleep so quickly I wasn't even paying attention. The next time I think to look down at him, to make sure he's actually listening, he's out cold. Nights before it's taken him hours, and yesterday those hours trickled down into forty-five minutes, but this is almost a miracle.

I have a feeling we're going to need a lot of those, coming up.

Abel's only fought one person, and with how tiny Viscaria was, how accidental the situation turned out to be, that was nothing. I've never had to fight anything but a mutt, even if it was two feet taller than me.

Something's gotta give, and it's gotta happen soon.

Of course Abel's laughing again. Of course I finally feel like things are looking up, like things are changing for the better.

Things like that only happen when they're about to be torn down.

* * *

 **Larkin Emerson, 17 years, District Ten Female**

* * *

I just have to wait for the anthem.

There were two cannons today. I can hope that one of them was Alana. Hoping hasn't gotten me anywhere so far, but it's a start. There's no point in me leaving the Cornucopia after her until I know.

I searched earlier and didn't find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I thought they'd be pushing us closer together, now that there were about half of us left, but it looks like I was wrong.

I came back to the Cornucopia after only a few hours. It feels like this is the only place I can go back to. It's where I started, where I thought I was going to be the entire time. It's a lot weirder, a lot more full of possibilities, when it's empty.

To think that I'm the only one here.

Cerise and Lynn's ghosts are probably still haunting this place. I can still remember how awful it felt, watching them die, practically cowering behind Elias because no level of training will prepare someone for that level of carnage.

I just said goodbye to the people that caused it, too, and they're not monsters. Maybe that's what really sucks about all of this. The people that started the ruin of our alliance are all human, just like I am. I hope they're okay. For all I know, those cannons were for two of them, dead at Alana's hands. If that's the case here, we're all screwed. If they can't beat her, what chance do I have?

While the sun sets I take to digging around in the Cornucopia. I still haven't found anything I consider an advantage, not against Alana. Is there anything in the world she's even scared of? She certainly doesn't act like it. An inanimate object would be scared of her before she was scared of are endless amount of weapons, but I barely even have a name for half of them, let alone know how to use them. There are ropes and pulleys and chains, but what am I going to do? Lure her into a trap? She's not that stupid. If she was, we probably wouldn't have gotten to this point. We'd have made the smart move and gotten rid of her earlier.

Maybe it's that sort of mentality that's gotten me this far. If only I could put it into action.

I stop my search once the sky goes dark, spending my time dragging crates over in front of the doors. I could be trapping myself here, but I feel safer, knowing no one can creep up on me. Unless a mutt crawls over the side of the ship, nothing's going to get up here. The thing is though, it's actually cold. When we got in this arena the air was warm and the sun was always shining and now it's like they're dropping the temperature.

The breeze raises goosebumps on my arms, even hidden underneath my coat.

I leave one crate to sit on, wrapping my arms around myself. Hopefully I won't be out here too much longer, even though I do have everything I need here; food, water, an unlimited supply of weapons. Once I see who died, though, I have to set out again.

The music of the anthem startles me and I can't help but jump. Before this, I had been inside the ship almost the whole time. The anthem is dulled in there, and you can't even see the sky to know who died. This is the first time I've really sat down and watched it.

I thought the first face would startle me no matter what. I had almost convinced myself that it would be Seren or Meritt, Duke or Kal. But it's not.

It's Alana.

My eyes won't believe it. I blink rapidly, getting to my feet, staring at her face in the sky. The same cocky, over-confident grin that she always wore is hanging in the sky, only it looks so insignificant now. I barely register the Eight girl's face replacing hers before the sky goes dark once again.

I must stand there for so long, mouth slightly agape, that I look like an idiot.

She's dead. They let her die. They let her die and no one else in the fight. There's no way it was the Eight girl who got to her; that must've been something else.

What the _hell_ are they going to do now?

They must have a plan, right? The Gamemakers don't just let a piece fall off the board that easy unless they know bigger and better things are on the way.

Everyone in Ten has watched Kellen's year so many times. The Career pack got taken out so early, most of it at his hands, that everyone expected the rest of it to be boring. There's no game without people willing to play it. And all it took, after that, was a single pair. The two from Seven took over the Cornucopia and terrorized the arena instead. They became the leaders.

There's always a back-up plan, and they're never pretty. We've witnessed it so many times, and yet we didn't think about it because all that mattered was Alana dying.

What if we can't beat the next one?

My goal was to go after Alana. Someone did that for me. There's a new goal now.

Someone's gotta find out what's going to happen.

It might as well be me.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

I've made my decision.

Everything I've decided in my life up until this point may not have been the greatest, but this decision could be. And it's the decision to do nothing at all.

I could run from the people I've been following. I could approach them, ask them what I've been thinking for hours now. Or I could just let it happen, let them see me, let them make the decision. They could kill me, even though they've cooled off. No matter what happens, I'm going to let it.

It actually feels nice, handing the power over to someone else to decide.

Kole and Larz are still above deck, watching as the anthem finishes. I let myself hover just inside the hall, the breeze startling me every time the door wavers under my hand. They'll come back inside soon, if not right after it ends. I don't imagine anyone is going to willingly spend nights out here anymore.

It's Kole that turns first, her eyes instantly landing on me. She taps her fingers against Larz's arm and he follows her gaze, not reacting at all. It's un-nerving.

"I knew it," Kole says, a wry grin spreading across her face. "You're really not all that subtle."

It's almost insulting, considering I've spent so much time creeping up on people, lurking where they can't see me. I guess Kole's more perceptive than I thought.

Larz looks between us. Maybe it's just the exhaustion kicking in, but he looks just this side of annoyed.

"What am I missing?" He asks.

"She's been following us. For a while, since..."

Nobody misses how she trails off. I don't want to remember it either; there's no need to. I'm here for one real reason, stepping out of the shadows for good and proving that I'm really not scared of the person I am. Whoever that may be. Maybe there's still time to change things.

"Why?" Larz questions. He doesn't really look like he's in the mood to kill anyone, though to be honest he really doesn't look like anything but _blank_. I still wouldn't put it past him, not with how much damage one swing of that mace did to Kinnon's chest.

"I guess I'm leaving that up to you guys." Simple. Straight to the point. Something they hopefully understand.

"You want to ally with us," Kole guesses. I nod. There's no point in hiding it.

I still haven't pinpointed the exact reason why. Redemption, maybe. To prove that I can be loyal, that I'm not one-dimensional. People can't control me forever. Eventually I have to stand up and at least attempt a choice for myself.

This is my choice.

"And why should we trust you?" Kole continues. "You would have killed him too, if it had been reversed."

"I'm not saying you should trust me," I admit. "I had two allies. They're both dead, and both times it was partially my fault. I'm here telling you that. You could kill me. But that's not going to get you anywhere, and you both know it."

We've all lost allies and we all regret watching it happen. I just wish that was easier to explain.

I take a deep breath. "I'm _here_ because of the things I've done. I can't change them. But I want to do better. You don't have to call me an ally right now. Just give me until tomorrow night, and then you can decide, tell me to fuck off, whatever."

I don't know who's staring at me harder.

"I've had so many stupid ideas in here," Larz says resignedly. "Somehow I don't think one more's going to make much of a difference."

I blink. I don't know if he just called me stupid, or the situation. Those words, though, I can work with. That's him giving me a chance, no matter how cautious it is. I can tell he wants to reach for the mace, just in case, but he won't let himself.

"Okay," Kole sighs. "One day, then. We'll see what happens between now and then."

I nod, trying not to look too pleased. This situation is still fucked beyond repair. I know I can fix this, though. I know I'm not the monster the world made me.

"Let's start off with some honestly, though," she insists. "Did you come to us because we were the best option, or did you just not want to go running to the Careers?"

I smile, and so does Kole, and it looks a lot like progress.

Larz rolls his eyes. "Let's go, then."

"Where to?"

"To find the next stupid idea, for all I know."

He disappears behind me and Kole follows suit. I give myself just a few seconds to relish the feeling of trust, even hesitant. The smile spreads across my face, bigger than before. Maybe we are walking into the next stupid idea. Maybe we can actually make this work.

Allies, if I'm lucky. Friends.

I never in a million years thought it would happen.

* * *

I'm pretty sure that like, no one called this except for the people I blatantly told. Which only makes it better.

I really am wondering how many of you go and check the blog before you read. Hopefully you don't ruin it for yourself, but to each their own. Again, running out of author's notes. Someone give me more jokes to put in here.

Until next time.


	31. Clean Break

Arena, Morning, Day Seven.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

I can barely move.

It doesn't really matter.

It took me three hours to get from the sixth floor to the fourteenth, and almost all of it was spent dragging myself out of the art gallery and to the nearest elevator. Forty-five minutes to separate myself from Erna's body, an hour and a half traversing a few hundred feet, another half hour spent crying in the elevator once I remembered Erna pushing us in here the first day, and the final fifteen spent getting back to the web center.

I feel safe here. I shouldn't feel safe here. The last time we left this place Erna ended up dead, and I can't even say it out-loud. My eyes are still burning.

When I finally got the knife out of my side I must have blacked out for a few seconds. My heart was racing so fast and I was panicking so much by that time that when I blinked my eyes back open I was soaked in my own blood. I still had the bag we took from the infirmary, though. I was against Erna taking everything she possibly could, because other people could use it too. There was no point in hoarding it all.

I've never stitched up my own side. Smaller cuts, sure, but if there anything worse I ever got into Marcos usually took care of it. The angle is awkward and by the time my trembling hands even thread the needle, there's so much blood I can barely see what I'm supposed to be stitching up.

Erna told me to fix it. Kiero would want me to fix it. I have to fix it.

The stitches aren't even close to straight, and the line of them is uneven. I can't even remember what the stitches on Magne's leg looked like. They were perfect, though. Even Erna knew that. What I just did isn't even close. If I twist the wrong way blood seeps out between the thread, through the bandages I wrap around my entire torso.

There's only one thing that could possibly be keeping me alive at this point, and it's not my drive to win.

I take deep, even breaths as I situated myself in one of the armchairs in front of that lone computer in the corner. The others are all on, now, but they look normal. This one still has the map displayed over the screen, dots blinking in and out of focus.

Only one death, since Erna. The Six girl. The one no one thought was going to die. She's dead, people who shouldn't be dead are gone, and someone's keeping me alive. The only thing it does is confirm my suspicions about the Sixes being gray.

I can hardly breathe without bleeding more. I just have to calm down. The bleeding will slow. I'll be okay, I have to be okay.

Eleven dots, including me. The Seven and Nine boys are still alive and still together. They haven't moved in a while. There are three more above me; the Eleven girl with two others. They've been moving around. I'm almost certain they'll come down soon, and they could find me, but they won't.

Red and white, still together. I've tried to keep track of them since I got back here, but my focus isn't too stellar. They're still on the sixth floor. There's no way they stayed there all night while I laid there, bleeding. They would have come back to finish me off, and they didn't. They're moving, albeit slowly. I'd never catch up to them, and in my current state would have no chance.

If the Two boy is red, that means his District partner and their remaining ally are on the fourth floor. Are they meeting up again? There's too many questions and I have answers for none of them.

All I can keep reverting back to is the fact that Erna can't be dead. Magne was so easy to accept, in comparison to this. I never really thought, when I volunteered. I didn't think of hurting anybody or losing somebody I cared about. All that mattered in that single moment was saving Morris' life, and he's still back in Eight very much alive because I took his place.

I've lost, but I haven't hurt anyone but myself.

Not yet.

My eyelids are drooping, practically willing me to sleep, to regenerate, and I won't.

All I can focus on are those two dots.

There's another reason I can't sleep. Every time my eyes are closed all that takes over are the knife wounds in her chest, a broken arm that didn't matter, the brass knuckles on her fingers. The ones I pried off her her rapidly cooling hand just before I dragged myself from the room. I've had them clutched in my grip since, laying on my lap while I was stitching myself up.

She's dead because of them.

There's never been a point in my life where I've imagined hurting someone just because I wanted to. Punching them or ripping their face open or stabbing, over and over, until there's nothing left of their stomach but their torn innards, so much blood staining my hands that I could never scrub it off. I could never do that, back in Eight, and I never wanted to.

I've never, not once in my life, felt that desire.

Not until now.

And it's terrifying.

* * *

 **Abel Montgomery, 18 years, District Nine Male**

* * *

"Wake up, asshole."

I throw one of our remaining granola bars at Glenn. It bounces off his forehead and lands with a thud on his chest. He nearly shoots upright, swiping frantically at his face, and just manages to crack an eye open at me.

"Ow?"

"Happy Birthday."

He stares at me for practically an eternity, and then pokes at the granola bar.

"Are you alright?"

"You said in training your birthday was in like a week. It's been about a week, has it not?" I question. "Unless you were lying."

"I was not lying. I'm just wondering how the hell you know what day it is."

To be fair, I don't. But this is my clearest guess. I've spent the past little bit trying to count the days, but most of the ones in the beginning blend together completely. Only these past few seem to have any sort of clarity, and that doesn't exactly bode well for my counting skills. I don't really care what he thinks, and he shouldn't be questioning it. It's close enough. You only turn seventeen once and he should learn to appreciate it.

"You should be grateful, you know," I point out.

"For what?" Glenn exclaims. "The granola bar you took out of _my_ bag?"

I really didn't think he'd notice that. Most of our supplies are pretty much the same, but apparently he pays more attention than I thought. I smile sheepishly and he rolls his eyes, tossing the granola bar back in my direction. I'm almost certain there's a bakery and a pastry shop on this boat, but I wasn't interested in risking my ass to go and get him a cupcake. He can settle with both of us being alive for today.

"So, what's the plan?" Glenn asks. "Considering you woke me up, there's really no point in—"

"Attention all tributes!"

"Jesus christ," Glenn yelps, leaping to his feet on the bed and brandishing a pillow like he's going to whack me with it. I freeze, looking around the room. That's not Alana's voice. That was ten times louder than hers ever was, and less deranged than anything she ever said. Definitely a Capitolite.

Speaking of, though, am I imagining things or was that the Head Gamemaker's voice? Don't they have an announcer for this?

"Commencing in exactly one hour there will be a Feast in the main dining room that can be accessed from floors five, six, and seven. Although I know some of you may hesitate, please be aware that those that participate will be rewarded greatly and there may be consequences for avoiding such an event. Happy deciding."

The noise stops. He sounded way too pleased about that. Glenn looks at me and lets the pillow drop down to the bed in defeat, following it only moments later. He lands in a heap himself.

"We shouldn't," he sighs. There's already an amount of acceptance in his eyes.

"I know we shouldn't."

"Fine," he mutters, vaulting off the bed and reaching for his bag. We shouldn't. But we've done absolutely _nothing_. Chances are those consequences will be a real thing if we don't go, and I'd rather at least have a hand in deciding my fate.

Glenn shoulders his bag and then reaches forward without warning, wrapping his arm around my middle. It's only for a brief second, and I spend the entirety of that second just standing there like an idiot, my arms hanging by my sides. It's probably a good thing he can't see my face.

He steps back and reaches for my own bag. "Thanks for remembering."

I'm still frozen in place when he shoves the bag at my chest, poking me with the baseball bat.

"Everything alright in there?"

He's gesturing at the side of my head, looking very much like he's going to poke me again. I yank the backpack out of his grip and take the bat, turning away from him. He's smiling, and it'd be downright infuriating if I didn't enjoy it so much, and I'd rather he just stopped.

"Let's go," Glenn insists, still laughing a bit, and I open the door and shoulder my way out. He gets ahead of me in two seconds, practically skipping down the hallway even though he could very well be walking to his own death. We both could be, but right now it's like he doesn't care. He's too satisfied with himself. People taking advantages over situations, taking advantage over me, irritates me to no end. Apparently Glenn can do it and my brain disappears.

I guess that's just another point to the fact that I never should have gotten myself into this mess. I shouldn't have listened to him, shouldn't have let him stay with me, should've left in the middle of the night and forgotten about this entire thing.

Watching him skip down the hallway, though, still giddy as ever, it's plain as day to see how much has changed.

Usually I hate it. But this I can get behind. This I'm happy with.

I just hope it lasts.

* * *

 **Larz Navir, 18 years, District Three Male**

* * *

I hesitated.

The last time I went out looking for an advantage, something that could help, Kian still died. Being cautious is what got me through those hours by myself. What reward could they give us, could they give me, would be worth it after that? We have food and supplies and weapons and I can't think of anything that would make any difference.

The only thing is, I don't want to bring something worse down on us because I'm too stubborn to go. Kole doesn't deserve that. Hell, Sinora doesn't deserve that either.

We're already headed down to the dining room. There wasn't much discussion about it, just movement. It'll be easier if we get there first, if we can scope it out. For all we know the rewards are already there and we can scoop them up and run before anybody else shows up.

"I'd be shocked if the Careers were all still together. I don't remember everything but there's a pretty solid chance we're the biggest alliance left," Sinora says. She's walking ahead of us, and I don't miss the way she hesitates even calling this an alliance. She's still fearful we'll push her away. It's even easier to nice how she's always two steps ahead of me instead of behind. There's no chance of her stabbing us in the back if she's in front of us.

I don't think she will. For all her faults, I want to believe that.

"Where should we go in?"

"Six or Seven," Kole answers immediately. "Checked the directory. The top two are both hollow in the middle - they've got balconies overlooking the main floor. Everyone will probably go in that way. That's where the stuff will be, anyway."

I'm glad she's paying attention, that Sinora's being optimistic about the situation. It is genuinely helping, I think. They may not be the people I envisioned myself ending up with, when this whole thing started, but I think they're the right ones.

Well. At least I hope Sinora is. I guess this feast thing would be a good time to prove it.

Our journey across the sixth floor is a slow one. Not one of us wants to repeat the last disastrous fight we got into. At least we've learned to stick close together.

The doors to the dining room are massive and already propped open, and my weapon has the longest range. It's without words that I get in front of Sinora, stepping inside first.

I still want to stop, craning my neck to see inside. I can barely see over the edge of the balcony, but there's no movement visible to the eye. Unless someone's in there hiding, which isn't a bad strategy, we might be the first ones here. The first stroke of luck in a long time.

It's massive in here. There are dining tables and chairs everywhere and the light is soft and golden no matter where you look. I put a hand on the nearest balcony railing and look over. I really can't see anyone, and I just have to hope I'm right. The tables in the middle of the room on the main floor are massive. Definitely meant for someone important. Is that where the stuff is going to pop up?

Kole sticks tight by my side while Sinora heads down the grand staircase towards the main floor. There's another floor above us, but it's a lot smaller, and I doubt anyone's going to risk jumping down on us.

Sinora waltzes slowly into the middle of the room. Only when she's dead center does she look back up at us, watching from the balcony, nodding.

There really is no one else here. For now, anyway.

"We got this," Kole murmurs. She squeezes my hand, only briefly, before taking her machete out.

Kian said that too, just after he woke her up that day and left. He looked so happy. So confident. Kole isn't pretending to be any of that, though. All we can do is stick together.

"Start counting down," I say quietly. "We're not going to be the only ones here forever."

The worst part is, I'll have to say that again if I want to get out of here.

I don't even know if I want to. It's not just me that matters anymore, though. For Mireya and for Kian. For Iridium, and the family I left behind. Even for Kole and Sinora, even though they're still with me.

There are so many reasons I could give up, after the things I've had to watch.

But there might be even more reason to keep going.

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

We spent hours waiting on the Captain's Bridge for Seren and Kal.

All I could do was pace the length of the room, the doors barricaded. Meritt stared silently the entire time, arm cradled against his side, and _fuck_ , this could not get any worse. His arm's broken because of me and Seren and Kal aren't with us because I was too impatient to just get on with it and come up with another idea and we didn't see the anthem, probably in some weird twisted way, because of me.

One of them could be dead.

That still doesn't explain it. Maybe they had to hide it out, maybe they couldn't make it in here, but we just don't know and it's driving me fucking insane.

We've left the bridge, but it's still not helping. An hour searching and there's no sign of them anywhere. It'll take more than an hour to look.

"They're not dead," Meritt says evenly. "Stop panicking."

He wouldn't let me tear my coat apart to at least hold his arm up, wouldn't let me near it at all, and now he's reading my fucking mind. Great.

"You don't know that."

"I know that. We'd know if they were."

I don't know why that makes sense, but it does. It does feel like I'd know, like I'd lost a limb or there was a sudden hole in my chest. They can't be dead, because the world wouldn't feel the same. That's the only thought I can cling to, because the alternatives are more terrible than I thought I was capable of managing.

We've been heading downwards from the twelfth floor, and the uneasiness only gets worse. Some of it's Meritt, too. Erna's dead, but there was no immediate cannon meaning Rover followed. Meritt said he got him, took him down, but he's not dead. Meritt missed. Meritt doesn't miss. His eyes are bloodshot, because he spent all night watching me instead of sleeping, and he's no doubt in pain and exhausted and he probably shouldn't be following me around on my manhunt.

"You can stay here," I tell him. "I'm just gonna go down one more and check five."

I recognize the look he instantly gives me. It's the one that says I can keep talking but I'm not going to get anywhere. He's going to follow me down there whether it's good for him or not. I still go slower down the stairs, making sure he's just at my back.

The first thing I see on the promenade is blood. It's about maybe fifty feet from the staircase, but it's splattered in random places across the width of the hall. There are shards of glass scattered around the arena but the source is from a floor to ceiling wall, the entire panel gone. Only a few pieces of glass are left clinging to the metal frames, practically dangling off.

There's a body lying in the middle of it. A body without a head.

There's no way.

I bolt down the stairs, not even bothering with a weapon. Meritt's still going slow behind me, but I have to know.

Sliding to a halt in front of the mess, it's like my eyes refuse to see what it really is. The head that belonged to the body is gone. The mutts, probably, but it still doesn't make any sense. How did this just happen?

Alana's dead.

No matter how many times I blink, how many times I take in the scene, her body doesn't go away. Alana's _dead_. She was the second cannon yesterday, she was the first face in the sky. There's no way to tell if it was Seren and Kal that got to her or something else. All I know is that my allies are still alive, somewhere, and the person I wanted dead, miraculously, just is.

When I look over my shoulder, Meritt's frozen halfway between me and the stairs, eyes locked onto her body like he doesn't understand either.

"Someone did a number here," is all I can manage to croak out, glancing up and down the promenade. It's not recent, though. At least 12 hours, probably longer. Whoever did it is long gone by now. But at least there was proof someone was here at all. If it was Seren and Kal, then they probably didn't go far. All of this blood doesn't belong to Alana.

"We need to keep looking ... go down to four. There's not many floors left."

Meritt's still staring blankly.

"Hey," I say softly. His eyes snap to mine, but only for a second. It's not the same feeling that I was trying to process. That's so many varying emotions he doesn't know how to deal with them. He stares at some vacant point between me and Alana's body.

"I ... I think you were right. About me needing a minute. You can go down to Four; I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave him alone. This isn't exhaustion. This is him genuinely needing a minute to collect himself, and people left alone with their emotions will do anything they want. I don't know what his thoughts on are Alana were, even if she made hers perfectly clear. Maybe this is Meritt's way of just letting that all go. And he will follow after me. He always does the things he says.

"You sure?" I ask him, putting a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Meritt nods, still looking towards her body.

"I'll only be a few minutes. Don't worry."

It takes me a few moments to let my hand slide off his shoulder, to step away from him. He stands, un-moving, not even watching me leave, as I head for the opposite end of the promenade. He'll be after me soon. I'll be with him again in a few minutes. He said that himself.

Even when I get to the stairs, though, I can't shake the feeling inside me. The one that's telling me to go back, to not listen to him, because something's going to go wrong and I'll only have myself to blame yet again. I even stand there for a moment longer, just making sure he's still there. He looks smaller, from this distance, but he's still there.

There shouldn't be anything to worry about.

When I get to the fourth floor, when I finally really leave him, I still can't help feeling like I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

This can't be happening.

It's not _real_.

I even thought it. If Alana dies, then what's left? I thought, maybe, if I wasn't involved, it wouldn't matter as much. I would never have to know what happened, never have to witness the downfall of someone that represented what I could be better than anyone.

But now she's dead, just like that. Does that mean I'm next? The Gamemakers know what I am, where I came from, and they knew the same about her. They don't care about us any more than the next person.

Am I going to die?

I'm not ... I'm not supposed to die. I'm in no danger of dying. That's what they _said_.

I'm shaking. I can't remember the last time I shook. It's like yesterday all over again. The Eight kid's supposed to be dead, and he's not, because I didn't finish the job. That's never happened before, either, and it doesn't make any sense.

What the fuck is happening to me?

"Meritt?"

I recognize the voice, coming from behind me, but it's not one of my allies. I can't make myself turn around. I can't un-stick my feet from where they've been standing since Duke left. I can barely do anything.

"Hey, are you alright?"

It's Larkin. She actually sounds concerned. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, approaching me slowly. Like she's trying not to startle me. There's a certain level of concern in her eyes, eyes that have already glanced quickly at Alana's body and then back up to me. There's no surprise there. She knew the body was here, she's already been here. The machete hanging over her shoulder is barely visible. That's when it all starts making sense.

"Where's Duke?" She asks me. She's running out of questions and beginning to wonder why I'm not answering.

"Gone," I manage. Larkin nods, apparently accepting that as an answer, and steps closer. She still looks so concerned. It's not real. People are never really concerned about me. I killed one of her allies in the first fifteen minutes, we left her with a broken alliance. There's no way she cares. And maybe it _was_ her who killed Alana. She has a weapon that could've taken her head off, and she's here for a reason and there's no surprise in her eyes.

It's like I feel the first part of me snap in two.

My hands are shaking even worse than before, and I didn't think that was possible.

I don't want to do this. I can't do this. I can't.

I have to.

They always told me to eliminate the threats in front of you first and _I have to_.

"Please run," I whisper. Larkin still manages to hear it, hand half-outstretched like she was reaching out for me. I turn towards her fully, and maybe it's the look on my face, but I watch as all of the concern in her eyes melts away to fear. Fear she doesn't even understand herself. Nothing else matters but that fear, though, and how quickly you react to it.

She takes off running the way she approached me from. I can hear her feet slapping against the ground, _one two, one two, one two._ She's getting further away. I know there's a set of stairs off to the right, up to the sixth floor, without even looking. The gleaming lights of the carousel are twinkling from the balcony above me.

My hands don't want to, but my brain is screaming at me to do it anyway.

I take a knife out of my jacket and throw it after her retreating form.

We're both knife throwers. She's not as well trained, and she's running for her life. My hands are quaking, my right arm dangling limply, but I already know it won't miss. I'm not going to miss a second time.

She's only four steps up when the knife buries hilt deep in her back. She screams in agony, in pain, in even more fear than before, as her legs give out from beneath her. I watch as she goes crashing to the stairs, catching herself on her hands before her face makes it to the ground. There's probably no feeling left in her legs. That's what knives in the spine are meant for. _Stopping_.

Her body is still on auto-pilot. Her arms work on dragging herself up the stairs, trying to reach the sixth floor. Trying to get away. She's sobbing; I can hear it clear as day. I move for the first time in what feels like forever, my foot brushing against Alana's leg.

Alana's corpse is lying face-up. If she had a face. I can practically see her head soaring through the air, see the smile she had on her face even when she was dying. I can also see the look she'd have on her face now, if she was here witnessing this. Alana would look so happy, so gleeful. _I knew I was right_ , she'd be saying. _I knew you couldn't hold it in forever._

I can't help it when I kick her body over so that she would be face down. It's still too easy to imagine, her head still attached to her body, eyes practically laughing at me even though she's fucking _gone_.

My blood runs ice cold when I see the bullet hole between her shoulder blades.

After that, I can't think of anything that will make any more sense than what I'm already staring at.

It's like everything inside me levels out into something calm, into that moment before the storm strikes. My eyes aren't frantic. My hands stop shaking all at once. What happened here is staring me in the face, and there's nothing left in me at all.

The cracks spreading across my chest and back and every part of me break open without warning.

I turn around, walking almost untroubled to the stairs. I take another knife out of my belt. Larkin's somehow made it to the top of the stairs, almost to the edge of the carousel. She's still crying, leaving streaks of blood in her wake, and she doesn't even see me coming until my shadow falls over her. In one swift motion I grab the back of her collar, hauling her up just enough. Always just enough.

"Meritt, _please_ —"

I draw the knife across her throat.

Blood spills out across my hand. My arm should be on fire from holding her up. It's not. Nothing hurts. Larkin lets out one last, ugly gurgle, and goes silent under my hands, careening back down to the ground when I let go of her. A cannon rings out in the distance.

The blood is trickling to the edge of the carousel, spreading out in a pool around her. That doesn't matter either.

Eliminate the enemy in front of you first. I've done that.

Now I have to find the real one.

* * *

*finger guns*

At this point I have almost no explanations for what the hell is going on. It's taken me what feels like so damn long to even get to this point that it's just a relief. To nobody but myself, clearly. A massive apology to the person I killed in this chapter and also their submitter because it was frankly awful and they didn't deserve it at all, but alas. That's just how I am apparently.

Next week's update will be on Friday, for those who like to come in clutch with the reviews (Ansley) because I'll be away for the weekend and there's a certain someone in my inbox who can't wait an extra week for next chapter's awfulness. Thanks for the reviews, guys. I promise you, were in the home stretch. Kinda.

Until next time.


	32. Something Wicked

Arena, Morning, Day Seven. Part II.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

When I see the figure coming down the stairs, I know without hesitation.

"Duke!" I yell. I'm completely unconcerned with how loud that was, more worried at how he completely trips down the last few steps and only just manages to catch himself against the railing before he faceplants into the ground. All he can focus on, even as he rights himself, is Kal and I just down the hall.

"Oh, thank _fuck_ ," he breathes, jogging down the hallway in our direction. When he reaches us he practically picks me up off the ground. I've been increasingly sore since yesterday, but it doesn't matter. The sheer relief of just seeing him is more important.

"It's nice to see you too," Kal deadpans. Duke lets me drop back down to the ground and grabs Kal just as quickly, clearly thinking better of smacking him once he gets a better look at the state he's in.

"Why do you both look like you took a weed-whacker to the face?"

Neither of us respond. Duke takes a step back to examine both of us, taking note of the silence. His eyebrows raise so high up they almost touch his hairline.

"It _was_ you, you beautiful bastards," he whispers. He wraps an arm around each of our shoulders and draws both of us back in again.

"Where's Mer?" I interrupt. My heart won't stop pounding until I know. Duke wouldn't be acting like this if he was dead, though.

"Just up on five. Needed a sec. He should be right behind me."

There's hesitance in his voice, and it doesn't help. "Is he okay?"

"I mean, I don't know, besides the broken arm—"

"Okay, stop, the what?" Kal demands. "And let's go back to your face for a second, thanks very much. Who fucked up your jaw?"

"The Eights," he explains. "We ... we killed Erna. She may have broken his arm before that. He wouldn't even let me fix it. Says it's fine."

Duke wouldn't have left Meritt alone if he didn't think it would all be okay. It's the same reason we didn't head to the bridge last night. There were too many mutts and we were exhausted and we knew they'd be okay without us for the night, if not a bit panicky.

"You have to tell me how you killed that bitch," Duke demands. "I swear, you two look terrible, but whatever the hell happened on Five was worse. I mean—"

 _Boom._

"Oh, shit," he finishes, taking a step back. The panic in me resumes. You should never leave someone alone, and this is the reason why. Now all I'm going to think is that Meritt's dead, because he's hurt and he's got no one to watch his back and that's all I can focus on.

Kal grabs my arm before I can take off.

"You don't know it was him. What if we all leave and he comes down here?"

He continues staring at me, unblinking. I don't try to pull away from him, but I make no move to calm down, to relax myself. I _can't_.

"You're going to go no matter what I do. Okay then. I'll stay here. You two go up and check. If he comes down before you get there at least I'll still be here. Okay?"

I don't want to leave Kal alone either. Leaving him alone is even worse than leaving an injured Meritt alone.

"Listen to me," I tell him. "Lock yourself back up in that room and just listen, okay? We'll come right back whether he's there or not."

He nods, releasing my arm, and as soon as he does I take off for the stairs. Duke pauses a moment, probably driving home what I just said to Kal, and is coming after me in seconds. This can't have happened. He can't be dead in the all of five minutes Duke left him alone. It's irrational to be panicking this much about the guy who single-handedly got an eleven and managed to terrify the other twenty-three of us while doing so. Irrational is practically my middle name.

The first thing I notice on the fifth floor is I don't see him standing anywhere, and my heart plunges down into my stomach.

"I left him right by her fucking body," Duke hisses, striding forward. "This doesn't make any sense."

Alana's still here, her body kicked over, the blood dried into the grooves of the floor. But no Meritt. Duke continues to look frantically around the promenade, like he'll appear from one of the shops and call us idiots for worrying. He's not going to, though. I already know that.

Duke's still looking around when my eyes fall on the blood dripping from the sixth floor balcony.

He doesn't even notice me leave him. I take off up the staircase to our right, even though I don't want to look, because I'm already expecting to see something I never wanted to. I slide to a halt at the crest of the stairs, boots almost touching the edges of the blood.

It's not Meritt. It's Larkin.

"What the fuck," I whisper, burying my hands in my hair. Duke's finally realized and nearly slams into my back he runs up the stairs so fast. The shock takes a minute to spread across his face, his eyes scanning across the pool of blood that's spreading out from her torn neck.

"Those are his," he says, realization dawning on him. "Those are his fucking knives."

I knew it the second I saw the knife sticking out of her spine. It's one of Meritt's. And he paralyzed her.

I want to cry and scream and just lay down, all at the same time. I want to know where he is, why he did this. There's no signs of a struggle, no signs of any other blood that didn't belong to her. She didn't attack him. There's no way she would have.

There's only two options I can think of, and my brain's telling me he didn't plan on following us like he told Duke.

The doors to the main dining room are to our right, completely closed. I don't know how long it's been since the announcement; I didn't keep track. I never had any plans on going because we could face whatever consequences they threw at us.

"Stay here," I tell Duke, and I sprint away from him before he can even answer. I prop open one of the doors with my shoulder and double-check just to make sure he's listening. All he does is nod, encouraging me forward. I take out both swords before I let the door fall shut behind me, and when it does the _thud_ spreads across the entire room.

I'm twenty feet away from the Eleven girl.

She whips around, sickle in hand, at the noise. Her eyes widen. Not as much as I expected them to. There's a few tables between me and her, but she doesn't move.

There's two people on the second floor, and she makes eye contact with them for only a second. Allies, then, but they're not going to run down straight in-between us for no good reason.

"I don't wanna kill you," I tell her. She doesn't grace that one with a reply. Probably because she doesn't believe me. If only she knew the other problems I'd rather be dealing with.

Another door on the sixth floor slams shut, and I feel the Eight guy's eyes on me before I even see him. He's barely standing upright, but he's staring at me so hard it's like he's trying to burn a hole straight through me. His eyes flit around the room, locking on each and every one of us, but it's like whatever he's looking for isn't here. I can relate to that feeling right about now.

Everyone's so busy looking at me that I'm the only one who notices two people slip in on the seventh floor.

The door closes soundlessly, the only one yet. No one else is going to see them unless they're extremely observant. One of them peers over the balcony's edge. They could drop down and kill the pair on the sixth if they really wanted to. If they even see them. Somehow I'm doubting they do.

Still no Meritt.

"Attention, once again, to our lovely tributes!"

I don't have time for this.

"As you may have noticed, your promised gifts have not yet arrived and there is no plan for them to be arriving any time soon. That's the twist! Everyone who came here is a brave soul and will be rewarded as such, but only the people in this room. As long as you get out of this room alive, fighting or not, your mentors will be given the opportunity to give you a gift of their choosing at any time."

There's a pause. I know it's not over.

"I really _would_ rather you fought, though. And some of you have to think the same."

So I get a gift just for standing here. That's cool, I guess. I still have bigger fish to fry.

One of the boys on the seventh floor is considering dropping off the balcony to the sixth. They definitely don't see the problem in that, or the people that could kill them once they land. No one's going to see any of this coming but me. Not unless I make a dumb decision

"I don't want to kill you," I repeat to the Eleven girl, dumb decision made. "And I think you need to go help your allies."

She spins on her heels, eyes searching them out and me apparently forgotten.

One of the boys drops off onto the sixth floor. The Seven boy. Right in front of the two already standing there. Someone yells. I can't tell if it's panic or shock or a terrible combination of something else.

The Eight guy books it back out the doors.

I take off.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

The Seven boy almost lands on me.

I let out a pretty embarrassing squawk and stumble back into Larz, who doesn't really know whether to catch me or take a swing at him. He backs up just as he quickly as he landed though, eyes almost widening entirely out of his head.

"Abel, don't—"

Abel, who would have been the Nine boy, lands on the balcony next to him. A lot less gracefully, I add, and he nearly topples over when his feet hit the ground.

"—come down here," he finishes weakly.

I have absolutely no clue what to do. My first instinct is to fight, as it should be, but judging by the looks on their faces they have no interest in participating in whatever fight I'm thinking up in my head. Sinora's halfway up the stairs, frozen in motion. I catch her eye and she shakes her head, pointing to the door, and then draws a finger across her throat.

There's no feast gifts. They wouldn't have jumped down here unless they had no other way out. There's no stairs from the third floor. Does that mean the door's locked? Two and Eight already left, running out of here in seconds. I think I get it, though. If they ran, what's stopping the rest of us from running? There's nothing here for us that's worth anything.

The second they left the Gamemakers shut the doors on us. We're not getting out of here until someone dies.

Larz realizes that the same second I do. Somehow, all of us do.

Abel and Glenn take off in separate directions and Larz takes off after Abel. Sinora yells something at me that I don't really hear, but I see her hands moving clear as day. She can handle Glenn, if it comes to that. She's handled worse than Glenn. Abel is taller than Larz and about the same size, even though he's only got a baseball bat and a knife. The thing is, I don't want to leave him alone again. Even him being across the room would be awful.

They're almost to the stairs when Larz jumps, just managing to wrap his arms around his knees, and takes him to the ground.

I catch up to them almost immediately. I can't help him and keep an eye on Sinora at the same time, but judging from the lack of noise she's stopped Glenn from getting down the stairs. I watch instead as Abel turns, swinging the baseball bat an inch from Larz's face. I feel the breeze as he swings it around. It cracks into the railings of the balcony, wood splintering into the air.

I can't even get involved.

They scramble away from each other and it's all I can do to jump out of Larz's way as he scrambles back to his feet. All he has to do is hit him once. The mace will do enough damage, or it'll take away his weapon, and that's all we need. I shouldn't be wishing for his death, but we need to get out of here and we need to do it before something worse happens.

Sinora's tearing after Glenn, who's zigzagging through the tables on the other side. He's the slightest bit faster than her. If he wanted to come over here, he could, and he's already headed for the stairs because he knows it too.

Larz turns to watch him for all of two seconds, because Abel's still getting to his feet, and then the baseball bat cracks into the center of the chest.

It's not even a fatal move. All Larz does is go careening off to the side from the force of the hit, but nothing else should've happened. Nothing would have happened, if Abel hadn't already almost cracked the feeble wooden railings in half. Larz weight is much, much worse than that. I said I couldn't do anything, and I definitely can't stop Larz from falling. It doesn't stop me from trying.

The wooden railing gives in, and his weight goes over, and my fingers brush against his coat just before he falls.

I don't even mean to close my eyes.

The height isn't huge, but there's a pretty tremendous crash when he hits the ground. Or rather, the table. It cracks completely in several pieces when he lands on it, dishes shattering against the ground. For a second, I think he's not moving, but I see one of his arms wobble beneath him. He's alive, but he's probably not in the greatest shape.

Glenn is stopped dead at the top of the stairs, just staring, and Sinora is doing the same ten feet behind him. I guess that's the appropriate reaction for something that unexpected.

Speaking of unexpected.

I just barely look over my shoulder. Abel is staring, shocked, at the mess of railings and the broken table and Larz, who still can't even stand up. The shock isn't a facade. He didn't mean to. He probably doesn't even want to kill any of us, but he's realized he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

His eyes flick up to me. The baseball bat is dangling out of his hand, his knife lying on the ground by his feet.

Maybe he thinks I'm more concerned about Larz. I don't even have a weapon in my hand. But I don't know if Sinora will be able to get someone for a third time and there's no way Larz can. Not now. I can't help but want to close my eyes again. I don't want to either, but I think I'm the only one who can at this point. The Nine girl did it with such ease, when she killed Kian. There was no hesitation.

I'm still thinking about her when I turn around and sink my own knife into his throat.

All it took was a second. Get the knife out where he can't see and just follow through. Just like she did with Kian. The thing is, she didn't care about the terror in Kian's eyes, or what happened immediately after.

The second the knife pierces his jugular is also the time when Glenn starts screaming.

Abel's hands fly up around my own, like he wants to rip the knife out, but he can't. I keep a tight grip on it until he's forced to sag to his knees. There's already almost nothing left in him. His hands can't even find a place to grab my own, they're so weak. I lose track of where everyone else was, because I make myself see what the Nine girl didn't. He doesn't look as scared as Kian did, though. Like he knew it was going to happen eventually.

Not this soon, though. He never thought that.

He's dead quicker than Kian too. I did a better job than she did.

Abel's body tips off his knees and onto his side, and I let go of the knife. There's no need for all of the blood. I'll find something else. Everything inside me has shut down the way only I know how to. I just push it all down until all that's left is the dullest ache.

If only I couldn't still hear Glenn screaming.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

Kole's still just standing there.

Abel's cannon rattles the massive chandelier hanging in the center of the room.

The screams die out in Glenn's throat. I'm still convinced he's going to fall down the stairs, his knees are quaking so bad. I can't tell if he's crying from behind him, but it sure as hell sounds like he is. I think I heard the locks on the doors click open, but I'm not sure.

All I'm sure of, and it's not much, is that I have no idea what he's going to do next.

Scared people are dangerous. Desperate people even more so. He doesn't have a clear shot at a door, his ally is dead, and we're all stronger than he is. The only real chance he has at getting out is headed down the stairs towards Larz. He could beat me down them, and Larz really doesn't look too great. He's dragged himself to his feet, but his head's bleeding, and he looks like he just got hit by a truck.

Which isn't too far off.

Glenn doesn't even check where I am before he starts running.

It gives him a necessary few extra seconds to plunge down the stairs, but it's not until he rips the axe off his back that I contemplate following him.

The whole time I was chasing him he never took a weapon out, and he wouldn't even hit a dummy in training. He's not a threat. If he wanted to leave, head towards Larz and go for the door, Larz would let him. He's not in any shape to do otherwise.

Glenn's more desperate than I thought, and it's not just to escape. He just watches his ally die, and unlike me, he needs that pain to stop before it consumes him entirely.

"Kole!" I shout, already half-way down the stairs after him. That snaps her out of her stupor, her hands locking around the railing once she realizes what's happening.

All Larz can really do is brace himself. His mace is lying in the wreckage of the table he just landed on and he's already realized that Glenn is apparently more crazed than any of us thought he was once capable of. I looked at everyone during the chariots, in training. Marked some as competitors and some as the people that would never come close. And he was one of those people.

Glenn crashes into Larz at full force, completely foregoing the axe. That is until Larz sprawls out on the ground. Glenn scrambles back to his feet, axe in his hand, and all of a sudden the blade is at the back of Larz's neck.

Kole slams into my back, bloody hand gripping my shoulder. I hold both of my hands up, trying to ignore how I can feel Kole shaking against me.

"Okay," I start. "Okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it. But you don't have to do this."

There's nothing stopping him, though. A little pressure, a raise of the axe, and there's a crater in Larz's neck.

"You can go," I insist. "None of us are going to stop you. All you have to do is walk away."

I lock my hand around Kole's arm before she can move. She shouldn't say anything. He can see the blood on her hand clear as day and he's going to blame her until the last of her days. Kole can't do any damage control. I can.

"Please," I whisper. "You don't want to kill him, and you don't have to."

 _Listen to me_. Please, for the love of god, _just listen to me_.

Glenn takes a wavering step back. He's not crying anymore. The tears have probably run out. And I think I've won, for once in my life, because the blade disappears from Larz's neck by just a few inches. I know I'm wrong when he looks directly at me, and there's no sign of an apology in his eyes.

The axe almost take Larz's head off when he brings it back down.

Kole's scream isn't human.

I just barely manage to catch her as she lunges past me, wrapping my arms tight around her. The axe sinks in so deep there's no way he'll make it, and he didn't even see it coming. In seconds Larz will be dead, and Kole collapses to the ground even though I'm still holding onto her, which only brings me down to the floor too. Glenn doesn't even spare us another glance, but I can see the horror in his eyes. He just realized the magnitude of what he did, and the second that happens he rips the axe out of Larz's neck and takes off.

Kole tries to break free from my arms, tries to practically crawl towards him, and I won't let her. I keep my grip on her tighter than ever, until she stops fighting me. She goes so limp against my arms it's like she just lost all of her energy in one swoop.

Larz's eyes are dead. Just like that. I'm afraid the second the cannon goes off she's going to fall apart right in front of me.

 _Boom._

She lets out a sob so broken it actually hurts me a little bit.

"It's okay."

It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. If I'm not killing my allies I'm watching them die anyway.

"It's okay," I murmur again. Kole shakes her head, like she's not willing to believe me. I don't even believe myself, so there's no way I can expect her to. I don't know how long I'll have to sit here with her, don't know when it'll be right to peel ourselves off the floor.

Right now, all I can do is hold onto her.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 17 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

I don't even make it to the seventh floor.

My knees buckle in halfway there and I go crashing into the stairs, not even bothering to get up. My breath is coming so fast and harsh it feels like my lungs are collapsing. Maybe I'm mistaking that for my heart being yanked straight from my chest. It would probably feel the same.

I'm not crying anymore. Why am I not crying? Have I finally run dry? Abel's fucking _dead_ and I just killed someone and there was no point to any of it and I still can't breathe.

I think I'm having a panic attack.

There's not even anyone around to tell me to calm down, to say that I'm being irrational. Abel would sit beside me until I calmed down, made sure I was okay, and the gaping empty hole where he should be refuses to go away. I'm so used to him being less than five feet away, to hearing him walking alongside me, and now the only noise that reaches my ears is my own ragged breathing.

He wouldn't have gone if it wasn't for me. We'd still be safe, probably holed up in that room, and we'd both still be smiling and I don't know how to do this anymore.

The axe that clattered out of my grip onto the stair next to me is still slick with blood. Larz's blood. There was no reason for me to kill him, no reason for me to _ever_ kill _anyone_ and I still did it. I can't even pin-point why. There's no discernible thought in my head that explains what I just did, and there's nothing in this world that will explain it. I _snapped_. All I could think about was how bad it hurt and somehow that transferred into me hurting someone else.

He didn't kill Abel. He was hurt, and he wasn't even going to fight back, and I killed him anyway.

It feels like Abel's gone and he took every shred of the person I was back home with him.

What could my Dad be thinking right now? My friends? I don't even know how I feel about myself right now.

A soft _ping_ snaps me out of whatever I was trying to think, and there's a light tap against the door a few feet above me. For a second I think to run in the opposite direction and leave the axe behind. There's no need to have a constant reminder, and a noise usually means you're as good as dead. But he said we'd get sponsor gifts if we survived. That's what it has to be.

I struggle up the stairs, axe in hand, and crack open the door. Sure enough, there's a silver parachute on the other side. Whatever it's holding is so small I can barely see it. I snatch it up and unwrap it in my hands. It's nothing but a little silver coin, a '13' stamped into both sides. It's so small it fits into the center of my palm, and I don't really get it at all until I look up and see the elevator.

I said I had no idea how to get back to thirteen, and I thought we missed something.

Maybe we did.

Stumbling into the elevator, axe in one hand and coin clutched tightly in the other, I have no idea what to do. The doors slide shut, but it doesn't start moving. I didn't get this stupid thing for no reason. It has take me there, right? There would be no point to it if it didn't.

I wait, and wait. Nothing happens. Finally, I slam my fist against the panel of buttons. I do it again, my knuckles splitting open against the buttons until the coin slips out of my hands and lands on the ground at my feet.

The elevator moves. None of the buttons are lit up.

Seriously?

My knuckles are dripping blood onto the floor, and I cradle the hand against my chest. I really am snapping. I move the coin across the ground with the tip of my boot, listening as it scratches across the floor. When the elevator stops, my heart practically does as well. There a bright 13 lit up at the top of the elevator, and when the doors open it's just as pitch black as it was when we left it the first time.

Abel had the flashlight in his bag. I'm going in blind yet again.

There could be more bodies up here now. Maybe it's better that I can't see anything. It also makes it tougher to find whatever's really up here, but they wouldn't have sent me back up here if it was impossible.

I make my way through the room, if that's what it even is, kicking bones out from in front of me, and head in the direction Abel went the first time. And he was right - the further in I go, the higher the bones get. I can feel them brushing against my shins, and then my knees, until I'm basically wading through them. But the further I go I feel them recede again.

I can still smell blood, and there's no way it's my hand. Definitely more bodies.

I can just barely see a hand, lying limp on the ground, and I nearly start crying again. I don't need to know who it is, though, because there's something else that catches my attention. It's bright red, lying a few feet to the left of the hand. I crouch down, drawing it closer to me. It's solid plastic, with latches on the side, and I fumble with the case until it pops open.

My eyesight still isn't the greatest, but when I pick up the first object I come into contact with, I can tell what it is immediately. It's a gun. Not a normal gun, but it's definitely the shape of one, and judging by the other cylindrical shapes nestled into the case, it's a flare gun. I barely know how to light a flare, let alone how to use the gun, but it has to be important. We already found out the mutts don't like light, but what about fire? There's a reasoning for this. There has to be.

I tuck everything back into the case and slam it shut, clutching it tight against me. The bones start getting thicker again from here on out, and they tower so high not far from here they'll probably over-take me. This is the only section that isn't completely over-taken. For all I know, this is where Abel found the flashlight, but it doesn't matter.

There's no guidebook to tell me what to do, and there's no one here to help me.

I have to do this on my own.

I just don't know if I can.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

I hate being alone.

Any other time, sure. In the big bad death arena, not so much.

I have the door of our room locked, leaning up against it. What chance is there I'm going to hear Meritt walking past, though, if he does at all? I know Seren told me to lock the door, to hide myself away until they got back, but the truth is that couldn't make me feel any more useless.

It's been too long.

I wasn't watching the time, but they should've been back by now. With or without him, that's what she said. The length of time they've been gone; anything could've happened. And of course, as I'm thinking that, two more cannons go off.

Fuck it.

I wrench open the door, stepping out into the hallway. The gun's empty, of course, but I took one of Alana's tomahawks. The nicer grade one that was probably sent from the Capitol, which means her ghost is probably haunting me just for taking it. With a machete in my other hand, I basically look like a less-intimidating version of Seren. It's reassuring to me, at least, even if no one else will take me seriously.

I can hear the lights buzzing in the ceiling, it's so quiet down here. Heading back up to the fifth floor on my own doesn't seem too sensible, but what else am I supposed to do? Sitting here until something good happens will mean I'll be sitting here quite a while.

There's a noise from one end of the hallway, so quiet I'm sure I imagine it first. I still head in the direction anyway, even though I know how strong the possibility of that being a dumb idea is. I wouldn't make it five minutes in any horror movie. Standing still is almost worse, though. At least if I die making a stupid decision it was still my own. That I can say in confidence.

The stairs are ahead of me, a hallway to my left and right, and the one behind me that I came from. I don't see anything, but that doesn't mean something isn't here. Or someone, I guess. It's hard to imagine anyone other than Alana playing mind-games like this, if it is someone.

The light above my head flickers, the buzzing growing louder for just a split second, but I still look up at it.

That's when someone grabs me.

My brain practically short-circuits, a hand wrapping over my mouth before I can even think to make a noise. The only though in my head is _I'm dead_. I'm so dead, there's no getting out of this, and I really fucking hope someone has the sense to not let Emori watch this.

Nothing happens. There's no knife in my back or in my throat and I'm not dying, so what's the deal?

I attempt problem-solving mode, which isn't saying much considering I'm terrible at it, and I don't want to move for risk of getting shanked. It takes my brain, admittedly, a lot longer than it should of to process the fact that the arm holding me is covered by a blood red coat, and that's when any chance I had of thinking properly dives out the window.

It's not Seren.

"Meritt?" I mumble, even though I can barely hear myself because of his hand. If it's Meritt, then why the hell am I so scared?

His other hand locks around my arm, twisting just tight enough to hurt, and didn't Duke say he had a broken arm? He's sure not acting like it. I knew his pain tolerance was something else, but that's not just him ignoring it. That's inhuman.

My head cracks into the wall before I get a chance to do anything else.

I smash against it so hard my head caves the plaster in, and the impact sends me into a heap on the ground. I'm definitely bleeding now, the back of my head wet with blood. I'm trying to force the terror down, but my vision's swimming and I can feel every pulse of my heart in my fingertips, and all I can think is it's not Meritt, there's no way it's Meritt.

"Guess you should've saved that bullet."

But it is.

* * *

The first lesson of this story is I like to stab people in the throat and throw others off of balconies. The second lesson is never ship anything ever, and I need to take my own advice. Also Happy Birthday Glenn. Check the Final 8 poll on my profile that I never got rid of for extra laughs. I promise this wasn't planned.

A big congrats to our Final 8, who I'm not naming because I'm still convinced at least one of you scrolls down here just to see if I say anything stupid or revealing in these author's notes. Go look at the blog and save me the agony, why don't you.

In other news, Kal's POV might as well have a 'To Be Continued' tacked onto the end. No one yell at me.

Until next time.


	33. Nothing Left To Say

Arena, Night Seven. Final 8 Interviews.

* * *

 **Ferrox Mervaine, 33 years, Head Gamemaker**

* * *

"This could turn into a PR nightmare."

"I'm _aware_ ," Ferrox hissed. "I'm not the one who made the kid volunteer."

Sona mumbled something under her breath, although it wasn't anything good, and he had no desire to figure out what she was thinking. There was too much shit going on for his liking, too much shit that he had no control over. Technically, none of this was his fault. There were always volunteers he couldn't control, that he wasn't aware of, but this was just ridiculous.

"If she had just agreed to shut down the Sentinels when she got the damn presidency, none of this would have happened."

And the worst part is, Sona's more than right. But there's more to stopping something that's been in existence for eighty years than just willing it. You need support, and you need other opinions, and when people don't agree with getting rid of something then it stays put.

Apparently his opinion didn't matter. He'd said to shut it down too, when she'd made him Head Gamemaker, and obviously that had went splendidly. Just as most arguments with Dominika did.

Of course, even though this mess wasn't his, he was going to be expected to deal with at least part of it.

"How's everything in Two?" He asked. He had hoped he could drink himself so far into oblivion that he forgot there was even the possibility of an issue in Two. But it was getting closer, and there was no avoiding it now.

"Uneasy, mostly. They know something's up but they haven't figured it out yet. Just wait until it all gets blown out of the water. It's gonna be magnificent."

"Your definition of magnificent is extremely skewed," Ferrox sighed, resting his head down on the table. He grabbed the nearest stack of papers and held them over his head, like that could block out the world. Or his problems. His current problems were worse than the world, and that rarely happened. He needed a month long nap. What he needed was to not repeat what happened five years ago. The last thing he needed to add to the stack of issues was more bodies.

"You can go home, you know," Sona said, nudging his chair with her foot. "We can hold things down for a few hours. Well, at least I can. Don't know about the other three idiots."

Speaking of said idiots, he really had no idea where Cyrus, Lex, and Resani even were. How long had they been gone? When had they even left? He'd bet on the three of them napping somewhere, because he can't even remember the last time he slept himself, which means they were in the same boat. Sona was only still standing by his side because Cambria wasn't, and someone needed to make sure he wasn't dying.

"You said yourself if the five of us go down we're going down together. Which means I can't leave. It's gonna be over soon anyway."

It had to be. Trevall was going to do another stupid thing in the list of stupid things he'd done, from volunteering to his training session. He'd probably get himself and Arker killed sooner or later, if he didn't do it himself, and then the six left would be forced together. There was a day or two left, at most, and then he could go to sleep.

At least that's what he kept telling himself.

Sona sighed. "Guess I'll go find the aforementioned three idiots then. Keep an eye on Two while I'm gone."

"Who's the Head Gamemaker here?" He yelled after her retreating form. She sent the pen in her hand flying towards his head and he ducked back towards the table. Everybody left in the room stared as the pen clattered to the floor by his feet.

A few more days. Ferrox didn't know what would be left by then, but it didn't matter.

All he had to do was get through it.

* * *

 **Jesper Moreau, 18 years, District One**

* * *

All he's done the past few days is mope, not get much sleep, and generally hate everything.

It's safe to say he's basically turning into Duke.

Or, at least the old Duke. It's weird. He looks better now than he used to, and that's after killing two people. Maybe the Games are helping. Sure, if he gets out, he'll no doubt be an emotional wreck, but at least that Jesper can handle. The only reason he really trained in the first place was to make sure Duke wasn't driving himself to death every day.

There's a few scattered people in the training center, and none of them are here for any real reason. Himself included. The real sessions for the day ended a long time ago. It's weird, because of the group, he's the mature, sensible one, and he has absolutely no desire to go play nice for the cameras.

It seems every person still here knows that as well, because no one's coming near him.

It's not until the door clatters open, and the few remaining people anywhere near him move conveniently to the other side of the room.

People don't run from Vance, and no one usually care what the hell Alistair does, which means Queenie is coming to terrorize him and he doesn't have any time to run like the rest of them.

"Please don't," Jesper mutters as she comes up behind his back. She still punches him hard in the shoulder. For someone so small, she's annoyingly persistent, though that's not surprising. Estelle probably gave her that.

"I'm pretty sure avoiding the interviews like the plague isn't a good strategy," she points out. "What are you even doing?"

Avoiding the interviews like the plague. He's made that abundantly clear, and she even knows it. So what's the point in asking?

"Listen," Queenie sighs. "I know you've got some like, massively weird crush on him, but—"

"I don't have a crush on him."

"Fine. Just because you _used_ to have a crush on him doesn't mean you need to act like some emo asshole all day."

Jesper doesn't understand how she's being so rational, about all of this. Then again, she watched Estelle die five years ago, and they were closer than anything. Maybe Queenie's found her peace about that and is transferring it to this. It's probably a lot better than what he's currently doing.

"I don't even know why anybody likes him," Queenie mutters under her breath. "I'm pretty sure one of the ladies that did my hair has a crush on him too. Why does no one have a crush on me?"

"Vance does."

"He's my boyfriend. He doesn't count."

He still hasn't quite wrapped his head around that particular relationship, but neither had Duke. One of his best friends dating his cousin is uncharted territory that he had no desire to walk into, and so Jesper had stayed away from it too.

"Just ... come back to the house with me. Vance and Alistair are already there. Just do one of these dumb interviews and get it over with."

He stares at her. She shakes her head and grabs his arm, tugging him back towards the door. He's got a bag of stuff somewhere, and is stealing the center's equipment at this point, but Queenie doesn't seem to care. There's not much she cares about these days.

"It'll be fine," she chirps. "Don't worry."

And he really doesn't get it. Queenie seems so at ease. Whether that's tied to the belief that Duke will come back, he doesn't know. Either way, she's still not acting like his death is a real possibility. That's all he's been thinking about. He should've stopped him. Should have tried harder. Should have done literally anything other than just stand here and watch Duke kill himself.

He can't do anything for him now.

* * *

 **Corvis Dobrana, 24 years, District Two**

* * *

He hates the streets now.

There's nothing happening. That's the worst part. Everyone knows something is going to happen and yet no one knows what, and it's the worst feeling in the world.

Every time he steps out his front door everyone's eyeing each other, or watching each other in distrust, and it doesn't help when people realize who he is. Seren's not part of the problem, and neither is Laz or himself, but all of them might be thrown into the middle of it.

That's what scares him the most. Seren can handle herself, but no person is going to be prepared to handle whatever storm's headed their way. The last thing he wants, or needs, is his little sister getting destroyed by something she can't even see coming.

At least he's better off than their parents, who have been in full blown panic attack mode since the second she got on the train. Lazari only freaks out occasionally, and Corvis' only real moment happened when she fought Alana. That's justifiable, though.

This never-ending panic is not. At least not yet.

Seren _can_ handle herself. He knows that. He just need to have the faith that she can pull this off and not fall apart once everything blows up in her face.

"I really don't like how everyone's staring at us," Laz comments quietly from just behind him. Corvis would take him more seriously if he knew he wasn't staring just as hard back.

"Everyone's looking at everyone, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Everyone but Trevall's family. Because they're apparently non-existent."

That's not ... completely true. He has parents. Dead parents, but that's something, he guesses. And a sister, apparently, but either she's dead too and no one bothered to record it, or she's missing in action. Either way, it's too sketchy in comparison to what Two usually is.

"They'll probably love us," Laz points out as they approach their parent's house. "Compared to the shit-show out here, I mean—"

What they walk into is an even bigger shit-show.

There's practically a horde of people crowding around the house. No one's fighting, or screaming, but they look angry. There's even more Peacekeepers, looking very much like they tried to set a perimeter and failed miserably. So many eyes fall on him and his brother he barely knows how to look at properly first.

Corvis pushes through the worst of the crowd, approaching the nearest Peacekeeper. "What the hell's going on?"

He gets nothing but a gesture to the front door. Laz is practically hanging onto the back of his jacket, the crowd's so thick. Apparently the man recognizes the two of them, and he would rather them both just go inside. That's nowhere close to an answer, but he's apparently not getting one. Why is he not surprised.

He manages to wedge himself and Laz through the front door without anyone else getting in. No screeching Capitolite or other descends on him like he expected. The few he can see are staring out the windows fearfully, just barely pulling at the edges of the curtains.

"Really, what the _hell_ is going on?" Lazari repeats. He disappears down the hall, no doubt looking for one of their parents. Somehow Corvis doubts they can answer that either.

He _knew_ something was going on.

Something was going on with Meritt, and Seren's not even supposed to be there, and Two is supposed to be the example setter. Maybe he never really believed in all that, about being so loyal to the Capitol, but it kept the majority of them alive.

It's supposed to keep them alive in the arena, too, but maybe that's not how things work anymore. People root for them, but now people are scared and it doesn't matter anymore. Maybe his little sister, one of the people he's supposed to protect, will have nothing left but herself to protect her.

All he can do is hope that the fear surrounding everything never manifests itself into something worse.

He might as well be lying to himself, even as he thinks it.

* * *

 **Kane Alverado, 19 years, District Two**

* * *

He's had quite a few things try to kill him the past few years, but alcohol was never one of them.

He's holed up in some terrible bar in a non-descript part of Two, closer to the mountains than most, and he's discovered that in the real world people really don't care how old you are as long as you agree to give them a little extra cash.

He hasn't been nineteen for long, but he's never been drunk in his life. Honestly, it's not as great as he was expecting.

The bartender keeps looking at him funny, two seconds from either kicking him out or cutting him off. Probably because he doesn't recognize him, and judging by the few other people that are in here, he's used to the same crowd walking in. Kane is almost certain said bartender is on his way over here when Hollis drops herself in the chair opposite him.

He blinks, rather stupidly, at her. He hadn't even noticed her come in, let alone her getting closer to him. Apparently being drunk is even worse than he initially thought.

The bartender backs up, apparently satisfied that one of his customers isn't dying on the table. Hollis stares at him. She looks just as weary as he feels. She pries the half-empty glass out of his feeble hands. She sniffs it, grimacing, and then downs the rest of it in one gulp, still making the same face.

"That tastes like battery acid," she scowls, putting it down on the table. Kane doesn't want to know why she knows that, and asking is going to earn him a story he probably won't care about right now. He doesn't say anything, continuing to rest his head in his now-empty hand. Hollis reaches across the table and grabs his free hand in both of her own, just watching him.

There's no television in here, and he's grateful for it. He doesn't know how much more he can watch.

"He's going to die," Kane murmurs, so quietly it's barely even heard over the littlest of noises in the bar.

"You don't know that."

"I _know_ that," he insists. "You know that too, and the only reason you're not saying it is because you feel bad admitting it to my face."

He knows Meritt's going to die, but that's different than accepting it. He's watched Meritt walk away from him so many times, but he always came back. He's not coming back from this. He might as well already be gone. Kane just hasn't figured out how to deal with that yet, and the alcohol isn't doing wonders.

"Who even let you out?" Hollis sighs. "We're supposed to be on lockdown."

"Carnelia. And since when do you listen to lockdown protocol?"

They both know she never listens. That's why she came after him and no one else did.

"Figures," Hollis mutters. "They'd eat that one up. Carnelia Trevall: cares more about orders than her own brother. If she really cared she'd be out here with you, not me. Sometimes I wish I could punch her."

Kane doesn't know when he started loving Meritt more than his own sister did. A long time ago, probably. Carnelia never really cared, but to be fair, Carnelia's so far down the brainwashing track not much of her actual self gets through. Maybe she did care, when they were younger, but now she's a Sentinel, and so is Meritt, and so are they all. Sentinel's aren't supposed to have emotions, they're not supposed to be human. There's so many of them that are defective at this point that it's actually laughable. Sometimes he wished they had brainwashed him better. No emotions would be better than whatever the hell he's going through now.

"Don't give up on him," Hollis says quietly. "No matter how fucked his head is, he loves you. He loves _us_. That might be enough."

It won't be, but it's still true. Meritt loves him, he knows that, and he loves the weird group of them that stick together to keep sane. Meritt didn't even really know that type of love, until he met all of them, but it changed him. Kane thought that maybe, just maybe, enough of that feeling would sink through. Enough to make him come back. Enough to prove to him that his life didn't have to be orders and higher-ups and being a soldier until the day he died.

It doesn't really matter if Meritt wants to get out of that arena. Kane severely doubts he'll want to anyway, after he realizes what he's done, love be damned. They're not going to let him come back anyway.

It's like he's getting stabbed in the chest. Like he said, he's watched him walk away.

He just doesn't know how to lose him.

* * *

 **Atticus Chambers, 18 years, District Five**

* * *

The day has been a list of weird things after another.

To be honest, the whole Capitol entourage wasn't as bad as he expected it to be. Kole's prep team was annoying as all hell, and fled the scene as soon as the interviews were finished. Her actual stylist wasn't that bad. Atticus thinks he took pity on him and spent most of his time making sure he wasn't contemplating running away himself.

The thing is, now he wants him to show him the District. Walk him around, show him stuff, act like he's a normal human being just visiting and his sister couldn't die while they're walking around.

He doesn't get Capitolites. He really doesn't.

Kole would've gotten along with him, though. Atticus can tell just by how he acts. He was even talking like old friends with Zee and Moby earlier, and they're Kole's closest friends. If he gets along with them, he's no doubt got a solid relationship with her. Maybe he just wants to be angry, and he can't. He doesn't mean any harm; he's just genuinely curious.

There's nothing to see here, though. It's practically dark out, there's always a layer of smog so thick it feels like it's suffocating, and everything is so dreary it looks like a planned movie set. There's nothing here he'll want to see, nothing that he'll be truly interested in. If he's just doing it to humor him, he's doing a damn good job at pretending.

It's kind of funny, how he was the happy, light-hearted kid and Kole was the more serious one. It made sense. Of course it did. What happened to Kole quieted her, but what happened to Kole also made him louder. He felt like he had to fill the gap where her laugh would have been, until it came back eventually. He was happy for her sake, because she had been hurt but she was alive and she was getting better. Those two years of silence, of him taking tesserae so their family would be alright, it was worth it.

It's not worth it, anymore. Because if Kole was supposed to die, it should have happened three years ago. She shouldn't have survived an event that traumatic just to get thrown into another one. Talk about getting dealt an awful hand.

Marcel is still following along dutifully behind him, glancing around like he has all the time in the world. There's nothing extravagant about him. The only thing that's separating him from the people of Five is the way he holds himself - shoulders held taut, standing straight up, watching the people mill past him with no fear. There's no weight on his shoulders, and people notice that. They're looking at him venomously, like he's the enemy.

Deep down, Atticus knows he's not. It's hard to think otherwise, when he's standing here like this, but he's not.

"I don't know what I pictured it like," Marcel decides. "I used to work for One, until they decided I got too old. Never been to Five."

"What, not as glamorous as you pictured it?"

Marcel smiles grimly. "One's not all that glamorous either. Lots of assholes roaming around. I think I like it better here."

"I think you're in the minority with that one," Atticus points out. He'd rather live in One than here. If they had lived in One, someone would have volunteered for Kole. Hell, if they lived in one, Kole would have never been hurt in the first place. Maybe both of them would have trained instead, volunteered to represent their District. He doesn't know which option is worse.

"I'm sorry. That sounds insensitive, I know," Marcel says. "But no matter what this place did to your sister, she's stronger for it. You know that, and I saw it. Training doesn't seem to matter as much, these days. This place isn't as terrible as you make it out to be."

Atticus will _treasure_ Five, if Kole comes back. He always wondered, if his sister could kill someone, because of the things she'd already seen. He wasn't even really surprised when she actually did it. Seeing her cry and break-down was worse than watching her murder someone, because the sister he's known this past year is stronger than anyone he knows.

"I should get back before the train leaves me here," Marcel says. "Hopefully I'll see you again in a few months."

A few months. For Kole's victory tour. Maybe he's delusional, and maybe he's terrible for wanting his sister to survive yet another traumatic experience, but he needs her back.

He's always had the faith in her to do the impossible.

* * *

 **Emori Arker, 12 years, District Six**

* * *

She's not going to cry.

She does want to punch something, but that would probably do more harm than good. Crying it is, then, but much later, once everyone has left and the younger kids have gone to sleep. Someone's going to hear her, no doubt, but she'll get a free pass. She's allowed to cry.

One of the saner Capitolites is taking care of her, a younger girl named Juliana. Her hair's the colour of literal gold and her eyes are greener than anything she's ever seen in Six, but she seems nice. So far, at least. Emori is trying to ignore the fact that she's probably super weird and that she's also keeping her conveniently away from any television in this place.

She has no idea what the rest of the Capitol entourage is doing. There seemed like an awful lot of them, for just her, but they look as if they're trying to wrangle all of the other kids in the house into certain areas. They look like a horde of small, irritating animals with no way to contain them. She knows Maura and Audrick are trying their best, but they're really not equipped for this. None of them are.

Kal always seemed so ready for whatever happened in this stupid house, and it only makes her miss him more.

Just like that, there are tears in her eyes. She just wishes it would stop happening, especially when she thought she was doing a good job at hiding it.

Kal was unconscious and bleeding and completely helpless the last time someone let her near a television, and now it seems they're even more determined to keep her away from them. At least until the interview's done. After that she'll be free to cry and rage and do whatever she wants. As long as she talks nice and doesn't screw anything up, they don't care.

Emori leaps out of the chair before Juliana can get a word in otherwise, darting from the room and downstairs in a matter of seconds. There's nothing Juliana can do but watch. There's no way she'll risk navigating whatever mess this is. She'd rather get fired.

She's almost to the television when Audrick intercepts her, grabbing her arm. It's gentle, but still stops her in her tracks. The disadvantages of having a delayed growth spurt. It probably doesn't help that she hasn't felt up to eating lately. The pit in her stomach feels like a sickness, and it has no plans on going away anytime soon.

"Camera's not on him right now," Audrick explains. She doesn't know whether to believe him or not. He's like her father, and that means he tries to protect her even though he knows she doesn't need protecting. If her brother is going to die, she's going to watch it happen. It wouldn't be the first time she lost a brother, and if she's only meant to lose another she's not gonna be shoved away from it.

"You know I wouldn't lie to you," he insists. "He's still alive. Nothing's changed."

He's also conveniently blocking her line of sight, which means there's a chance he's lying. The last time she was allowed a look Glenn was still on his own, no longer on thirteen, and the two girls he had run from had finally left the dining room. And then Seren and Duke had realized that Kal wasn't where they left him. All that's left of where he was is the blood on the wall. She hadn't seen Rover, but the absence of whatever the hell was going on with Kal and Meritt was even more noticeable. Something is happening and it's probably terrible and no one wants her to witness that.

She needs to know.

"Go back upstairs," Audrick says softly. "I'll come get you if anything happens."

"Promise me."

"I promise. I swear, kid. You deserve that much."

Maybe everyone's so determined to keep her away from it because it's too much. Whatever's going on, it's probably worse than than anything she's ever seen, and that says volumes.

She heads back up the stairs, stopping halfway. She listens until Audrick's footsteps fade away. All that's left are a few kids milling around the kitchen, all younger than her. She presses a finger over her lips, and descends again. None think of tattling on her. Kal was one of the oldest ones here, and his seniority, oddly enough, transferred over onto her. Almost nobody tells her what to do. They're all too young to really understand anyway. Some of them haven't even noticed he's gone.

There's no one in the living room, but she can hear the television in the background. Too quiet to hear unless you're close.

She deserves to know. Audrick said that, and he believes it deep down. Maura thinks the same thing, she knows. Emori's not young enough to be oblivious and she's not old enough for people to trust, but none of that matters.

She has to know.

Everybody else be damned.

* * *

 **Juniper Elm, 17 years, District Seven**

* * *

This is awful.

She loves Glenn like a brother, but dealing with this amount of bullshit is testing her patience. Someone finally wrangled Ashton and Oliver into sitting down, and she was forced in-between them to make sure they behaved. Now she's sitting between two never-ending chatterboxes, with a spotlight shining directly into her eyes, and it's safe to say she's never been less pleased than she currently is.

"Hey, June, pay attention." Oliver elbows her hard in the ribs, but there's nowhere for her to escape to.

"I am," she grumbles. And really, she is. More than either of these two idiots. The Capitolite in front of her begins counting down from three, and before she knows it the camera's on, and she's still scowling.

"Alright!" The interviewer calls. "Now we're here with Glenn's three closest friends - how long have you all known him?"

To be honest, she never kept track. Glenn would know the exact amount of days, no doubt, but she can't even recall the year. It's been a long time. He was friends with the twins first, of course, but one day at school they had decided they didn't like the scowl on her face and all of a sudden she was getting yanked around by three boys she didn't even know the names of.

"I don't know. Seven, eight years?" Ashton guesses. "Does that sound right?"

Oliver shrugs, and she tries to nod in what is hopefully a convincing manner. The interviewer clearly doesn't have any interest in talking to her, though that's probably because she's made no effort to be nice to them like everyone else has.

She catches the eye of Glenn's father while Oliver is rambling on about something. He's half watching them and keeping an eye on the television with the other. He doesn't look like he's sleeping, and no doubt what happened this morning is taking a toll on him.

Juniper thought Glenn was going to die. She was almost certain of it. Glenn's father would breakdown and Ashton and Oliver would fall apart and she wouldn't be able to do anything like that. She can't remember the last time she cried. Maybe Glenn's death would finally make it happen. He's that stupidly stereotypical ray of sunshine in all of their lives, but he's falling apart himself.

Will Glenn be able to come back from that?

Somehow, Juniper doubts it.

"Juniper, dear. Would you care to tell us your favorite thing about your friend?"

She snaps back to attention, looking the interviewer in the eye. She didn't even think she'd have to talk, but the audience wants everyone's opinions. Glenn, that sweet innocent kid who everyone thought would be dead in the bloodbath, yet he's still alive and it's only because he's not the person that left Seven.

"He's a good person," she decides. "No matter what happens ... he didn't want to hurt anyone. I know he didn't. And I just hope he can come home, because I know we can fix this."

Fix this. Because it's a problem, what Glenn's going through right now. The interviewer seems to realize exactly what she means a moment later, coughing deeply and turning his attention back to Ashton and Oliver. Because that's the safer route. Those two are too oblivious to notice she said something she shouldn't, but it's only the truth. She might as well use her daily amount of breath on something she actually means.

Juniper doesn't know if Glenn's fixable, though. She's heard so many stories of victors not being able to sleep through the night, of them spending half the day crying because they don't know what else to do, and all of them seemed so much stronger than Glenn. Is there any fixing him, after this? She can sure as hell try, but you can't help someone who doesn't want it.

"We'll be moving onto Glenn's father shortly. Any last words for the camera?"

She doesn't really hear what Ashton and Oliver say, shaking her head silently when he turns towards her. It's probably for the best. God only knows he doesn't need her saying anything else they don't want to hear.

The camera shuts off. The twins leap away from her, jostling her almost violently, and disappear back to the television. She's left sitting there alone for a moment, watching as the interviewer stares at her. There's nothing good in that look, but her consequences can't be any worse than Glenn's will be.

She smiles.

* * *

 **Morris Healey, 17 years, District Eight**

* * *

If he doesn't get left alone soon, the morgue in the hospital is going to be even more full than it probably already is.

He's supposed to be _working_ , for god's sake. They already interviewed his grandfather. Marcos is as close to a guardian as Rover has, and that should have been good enough, except having someone volunteer for you apparently means you have to fess up and talk about them for a few minutes.

Well. It doesn't mean he's going to play along.

He's about two seconds from grabbing his bag and hiding in a storage closet for the rest of the day when someone taps on his shoulder.

"Morris Healey?"

Deep breaths.

"Sorry, wrong guy," he answers, only just turning around so he can look the lady in the face. Her hair is so alarmingly tall and spiky he's almost worried it's going to get caught in the industrial lights on the ceiling. If only he actually cared about what happened to her. It'd be her fault for coming after him.

The lady raises a bright blue eyebrow at him, staring directly at the little name badge on his chest. Fuck.

She sticks out her hand and smiles. "Delphine Carren. I was just wondering if we could talk for a—"

Morris turns around and walks away. He doesn't have a minute. Or a second, actually.

"Wait!" Delphine shouts after him. Everyone in the vicinity looks at him, or maybe her. She's chasing after him in heels that sound like they're about to cause an earthquake. As if her actual appearance wasn't bad enough. He doesn't know who people are looking at more intently - him or her.

"I just need a minute!" She insists, locking her hand around his arm so tightly it actually hurts.

"What do you want me to say?" He snaps. "Why did he volunteer for me? Because he's a fucking _idiot_. I never thought he'd listen to me, and he's too self-sacrificing for his own good, and now he's going to die. I don't even _like_ him. He acts like we're best friends because I have to tolerate him, because my grandfather takes care of him and that apparently means I have to as well. Honestly, I've accepted that he's already dead. He's been dead for a long time. And I wish I cared."

He lets out a massive breath, watching Delphine stare at him, her mouth slightly agape. Whatever she planned on hearing, it certainly wasn't that. The voice recorder in her hand is still blinking, but she doesn't seem in the frame of mind to stop it.

"Have a nice day," he mutters, sticking his hands in his pockets and stalking away. She didn't deserve that. No one, frankly, deserves to hear him spewing shit around like he just did, but he couldn't help it.

Besides, it's the truth. Rover is going to die, and when it happens, Morris won't feel any great loss. All he lost was the shadow at his back, and he's grateful for it. He always liked being alone better anyway. That wasn't his intention, when he told Rover to volunteer, because he never expected him to listen.

He always listens. That's where Morris should have known better.

Delphine's still standing there by the time he pushes himself through the swinging doors at the other end of the hall. He feels worse about that than about letting Rover take his place. All it would have taken was him running up and refusing and he would've gone into the Hunger Games instead.

He'd be dead, if Rover hadn't done that. He's not delusional. He's not cut out for a fight to the death, no matter how stubborn he may be.

Morris knows he should feel bad. At least feel _something_.

Once Rover's dead, though, it won't matter.

He won't have to pretend anymore.

* * *

 **Sabrine Floyd, 11 years, District Eleven**

* * *

Absentmindedly, she wonders if Sinora has ever punched Phil.

The way he's been lounging outside the house, looking smug as ever, she really, really hopes so.

There are Peacekeepers, so he's here. Of course there are Peacekeepers. Someone has to make sure no one harms the poor Capitol entourage. Phil seems more interested in smiling like a creep every time she so much as looks out the window, and she has the intimidation factor of a toddler. Sticking her face up against the glass and giving him a dirty look certainly doesn't help any.

She doesn't know all of what her sister does with the Peacekeepers. Most people in Eleven know that the people who are found in alleys didn't just get mugged by an unsuspecting stranger, but worse things happen than they can imagine, and Sinora's a massive part of it.

She's not the only one. Of course, there are tons of people who will turn on their own for a bit of incentive. Sinora was keeping them alive. _Her_ alive.

If that's a crime, well ... so be it.

As soon as her parents are thoroughly distracted she opens the front door. Phil's facing away from her, so she takes the opportunity to kick him in the back of the leg as hard as she can. He barely stumbles, but it's satisfying enough just to see him turn around with the slightest bit of confusion on his face.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" She questions. "Like anywhere but here? No alleyways for you to be monitoring?"

He smiles. He really is weird looking. "Just doing my job, sweetheart. You should've stayed inside."

"Your job? Huh, that's funny, I don't see anyone getting straight up murdered around here. Are you sure you're at the right place?"

"Did Sinora give you that mouth?" He laughs. "Why are you both so foul? And for your information, I don't do the murdering. I get Sinora to do that for me."

She stares at him. She knows she's lying. Like she said, she doesn't know all the details, but she knows enough. Her sister wasn't a murderer. Not until the Games. Her dirty work put money in her pockets and food on their table, and there was less blood on her hands than there is now.

"Hey, how many people do you think she'll kill if she gets outta there?" Phil ponders. "I'll bet you - I'm saying four. Sounds like a good number to me."

That's only two more kills than she has now, and seven people she has left to face. If Sabrine's being honest, she'd say more than that. Sinora will do what she has to to come home. She has no doubts about that. Maybe she wouldn't kill Kole, but everyone else, she wouldn't hesitate. She never hesitates. The Careers may pose a bit of a problem, but she's strong enough.

Phil takes a massive step closer and Sabrine steps back behind the door, shutting it until only the tiniest crack remains. He still gets as close as he physically can with the door separating them, which is about as creepy as it gets for him.

"Man, you better hope your sister comes back," he grins. "We are gonna have _so_ much fun if she doesn't."

"Have fun arresting yourself," she chirps, and then slams the door in his face.

Sinora really does need to come back. Not just to save her from Phil; she can probably handle that situation herself. She just genuinely misses her. Before they didn't even feel that close, but her absence is so notable that everyone notices how different she is. She looked up to Sinora, even if she did some terrible things, and she wouldn't have asked for anyone else to be her sister.

She does know one thing at least.

She _definitely_ has to punch Phil in the face now. For the both of them.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

When I wake up my head is pounding, there's still blood dripping out of my hair, and I'm tied to some piece of metal machinery.

That's how I know the next however many hours are going to be a party.

For a minute I think it's the ringing in my head, but then I realize I can definitely hear footsteps. The way they echo probably helps. Wherever we are, it's no place I've ever been. The machine against my back is moving, just barely. Engine room, then? It certainly looks like one. Whatever they're supposed to look like.

There's a metal catwalk above my head, pale light filtering through and across me, but besides that it's pretty gray in here. Still footsteps, though. I haven't decided if I want it to be Meritt or not, even though it has to be. Anyone else would have either killed me or untied me.

Speaking of, why am I not dead yet?

Something happened. Obviously. Meritt's more than a little crazy right now, unless someone body-snatched him. I just have to find out what, and maybe I won't die.

It's an optimistic maybe.

"Mer?" I call out. The footsteps stop almost immediately, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

He appears out of nowhere, like stepping out of the shadows, and it's not even surprising anymore.

"Hi," I say weakly. I don't know how long we've been down here, but it has to have been a while. Meritt's eyes are bloodshot and my arms are completely numb. The skin around my wrists is already starting to bleed every time I move.

I don't know what to say. What are you supposed to say when a supposed friend kidnaps you, carries and or drags you into a place you had no desire to come to, and then ties you to something with rope you didn't even know they had? There's not much you can say to that.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and oh. Well, that's good, I guess. At least he's sorry about taking me hostage. Remorse is good, right?

"That's good," I repeat out-loud. "Does that mean you can, I don't know, let me out of here?"

"I can't." And the worst part is, Meritt sounds even more terrified than I feel. This is worse than I know, and I'm the one tied up. I always knew there was something up; it was impossible to see anything otherwise. I just never thought it would matter. We all have issues.

"So tell me why," I try. He wrings his hands together, his broken arm looking even worse now that he's discarded his coat. Everything he had is lying in a heap just by the edge of the closed doorway. It's the least threatening he's ever looked, but also the most unhinged.

"You gotta tell me, man," I insist. "You _can_ tell me. We'll fix this."

"You ... you killed her. And when that happens it always happens again, and I'm the only option, and I had to, that's what they would've told me to do anyway."

Well, approximately none of that makes sense. The only person he could possibly think I killed was Alana, but I technically didn't. She would've found a way to survive that bullet. If Meritt's the only other option, after Alana, then what the hell does that mean?

"You think I'm gonna hurt you?" I ask. Probably shouldn't mention that Seren actually killed Alana. That's the last thing I need right now. Meritt's silence is enough of an answer. I would never hurt him. I'd never have that in me.

"They'd tell you to do it anyway. Who's they? The same people that told you to volunteer? I know it wasn't the Academy."

It's like there are two people warring inside him, the person I always knew and the side that's fucked up beyond repair. And maybe I'm being too hopeful, but it looks like the one I knew is winning.

"It's in the mountains. Just outside of Two. After the 75th, after the rebellion almost happened, the Capitol was terrified. There were so many criminals, then. They killed so many people. They needed something to protect themselves."

I blink at him. That was an information over-load I wasn't expecting to get today. Or ever, in fact. He's still going, though, like the dam has broken and the water's coming pouring out.

"At first it was just the people they had to punish. Work for us and we won't kill you. And most of the people took the deal. But when the Capitol started running out of people, they just started taking anyone. Orphans. People on the streets. They planted rumors in the Districts. People were coming to _them,_ looking for it, because they didn't really believe it existed."

"That's where you came from?" I'm trying to process this, but it's too much. The Capitol created their own army, a buffer in case the Districts ever rebelled, and it was their own people.

"I was five," he whispers. "They said they would take care of us, me and my sister. And as long as we listened they did. All of us, we're all soldiers. We go where they say and we kill who they want us to kill and they take over your head."

He's shaking so bad it's impossible not to notice. It still doesn't make sense. If he's telling the truth, then he was an asset to them. Obviously. Meritt killed Lynn like he's done it a thousand times. A soldier. That's the exact term for what I've seen. The way he listens, the way he questions, the way he follows.

So why is he here?

He looks like he's about to cry. And that's when it all clicks.

"They told you to volunteer," I confirm, and he nods frantically. "Look at you right now. You're telling me everything when you shouldn't be. You would've killed me if this was Two, and you didn't. Because you care, you hesitated because you know you shouldn't. Because you're a _human being_. They tried to convince you that you're not human, and when they realized they couldn't, you became disposable. They sent you here to die."

He is crying, now, and that's the most terrifying thing I've gone through yet. He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, because he already knows it's true.

"Somewhere along the way you realized you were human. And they realized too."

"Shut up," he whispers. "Please just shut up."

I snap my mouth shut. I may have convinced him he's less crazy than we both think, but I'm still tied up and he's still got access to weapons. Nowhere near the ideal situation.

It's not until he draws his hands over his face, looking distraught as ever, that I see the scars all over his arms.

He's not even paying attention to me, but it's all I can look at. Those are recent. There are still scabs and red markings and it looks like someone stitched them up and got rid of the evidence.

 _Just hurt myself. Passed out_. That's what Meritt said after his training session. And Duke said he wouldn't let him near his arm to fix it.

Jesus _christ_ , what is going on?

Meritt's been staring at me while I've been staring at his arm, and somehow I know that was the wrong move.

"I didn't know what else to _do_ ," he practically sobs. "They started asking questions, they knew I shouldn't be there, and they wouldn't stop. I just wanted them to shut up, I just—"

So he ripped himself to shreds. They can't exactly interrogate him when he's bleeding out and unconscious. All he was trying to do was protect the people who practically destroyed him in the first place.

"It's okay," I murmur. "We'll figure this out, we'll fix this."

Meritt screams, and it's a sound that's been sitting in his throat for years. It's terror, and it's desperation, and it's a league's worth of pain. I don't even begin to register what happens, because he's moving and normally that wouldn't freak me out, except two seconds later I see the knife and then it's buried hilt-deep in my thigh.

The shock must hit me before anything else, because I don't even manage to scream. All I can do is stare in blank, object horror at the blade sticking out of my leg. There's blood spreading across my pants, more rapidly than I would've thought. I'm probably going to black out again if it keeps going like that.

I look up, not quite knowing if it's my imagination telling me how woozy I already feel, and Meritt's gone.

Fuck.

* * *

Kudos to me for not killing anyone in this Final 8 Chapter.

Put a new poll up for shits and giggles. Humor me.

The next two weeks updates may not be exact. Chances are they'll either be the day before or after because of everything I have going on but I'll try and get them up on Saturday if that's a possibility. Just be aware of the chance of that not happening.

Feel free to demonically scream any questions on me and I'll clarify. That's what everyone else is already doing anyway.

Until next time.


	34. Dead Man Walking

Arena, Morning, Day Eight.

* * *

 **Meritt Trevall, 17 years, District Two Male**

* * *

I don't know what to do.

It feels like my lungs are collapsing. Something's pressing my chest together, like there's a weight sitting on my ribs, crushing everything inside. It's not a completely foreign feeling, but I can't remember the last time this happened.

Well, this in particular never has. I've felt hopeless before, but this is something else.

I don't even know where I am. I didn't take any weapons. I just fled. There was no easy way to look what I did in the face, especially when the whole world comes crashing down in front of you.

I still don't know what the _hell_ I'm doing.

I hurt someone I never should have hurt. It would have been easier if Kal had just died sometime while I was stumbling away from the scene, but he's still hanging on. I don't even know if I can ever go back there. How do I fix that - repair a relationship I almost buried six feet under? Kal will never forgive me for that. Seren and Duke will never look at me again. I don't deserve any of that anyway. I don't deserve _them_.

I came here to die, and I didn't even know it.

Eventually I sink to a shaking heap in the middle of a hallway, completely uncaring on who stumbles on me. Someone tearing my throat out, putting a knife in my heart, just killing me in any way possible; it would all be easier than living. I deserve to die, for the things I've done. I'm not a good person. No matter what my allies say, no matter what everyone in Two always said, they can't fix this.

Why do they even care?

I'm too cowardly to off myself. That's the worst part of the Sentinels - they teach you how to live against all odds. It doesn't matter if you want to or not. Your only real goal is not to let yourself die. That's why it was always so bad when one of us did. When Alana did. I'm so unused to seeing it that there was no other way I could've reacted.

I can't help but think of all the people I've hurt. Not just back in Two. Lynn. Erna. Larkin. Kal. Even Seren and Duke, because as long as I live I'm dragging them into it too.

There's even more names in my head when I think of why I can't die, and that's the worst part. I don't think Kane can watch me die, and the only reason I know that is because I almost didn't survive the reverse. But there's still Hollis and Mac, Alessia and Audrel, Linnet and Orick. There's too many people that care when they shouldn't. Will Carnelia care, if I decide to die? She didn't even come to see me at the Goodbyes.

The only people who showed up were Kane and Luca, and I know Luca hates me by now. After what he saw me do, there's no way he doesn't.

Maybe it's because of all of those people, though, that I even feel the desire to get up. We're all Sentinels, all people who have irreparable flaws that don't allow us to really be what we should. Hollis is too loud. Linnet never listens when she's supposed to. Mac always wanted to heal more than hurt. And Kane never stopped loving, even when he knew he should.

And somewhere down the road, after all of those things passed through me, I learned what it was like to be alive again.

I've already thought it, and it's the truth. There is no fixing this. I already blew everything in my head out of the water. I've destroyed years of build-up, of work, but I won't be around to see the aftermath of it.

I haul myself back up, pressing my forehead against the wall until I can bear to open my eyes again. They put the weight of the world on my shoulders, on all of our shoulders, and it's finally decided to crush me. That's alright, though. As long as I can keep it to myself, keep other people away from the fallout, then I'll live my last moments being suffocated.

Unless someone's found him, Kal's still back there. Seren and Duke could be looking for us. And out there, somewhere, are four other people. Living, breathing human beings that have more of a right to life than I ever did. Maybe I don't know them, can barely even bring up their faces in my mind, but it's the fact that they're still here that matters.

Seven other people. Three who probably won't let me go.

So many people, back in Two, who watched me walk away and couldn't say anything.

We're all just numbers, in the end, and eventually what I said won't matter. They'll forget about me too, just like the audience forgets about everyone else. Maybe this issue is a bit more ... important, than most, but it'll fade. Everything does.

Not me, though. Not right now.

I can't leave yet.

It's that little thought that makes me start moving. I don't know where I am, but I know where I'm going.

All I can say is I hope death is better than life.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

My brain has processed it, but I don't think my heart has.

I don't even remember much about the actual event. Just Sinora screaming my name, and realizing what was happening, and the next thing I remember is seeing Larz's head half-attached to his body. I don't know how long it took, I can't recall what I was thinking. I don't know anything.

God knows how long later Sinora dragged me out of there, depositing me outside the door to the dining room like I was a wounded animal. I had stopped crying by that point. Stopped doing much of anything really.

I didn't even watch as Sinora went back into the dining room and came back minutes later with Larz's backpack and mace in hand. It didn't even feel right going through his stuff. I gave Sinora the pain pills, and she accepted them without asking. There was a massive part of me that wanted to keep the mace, the backpack that was all but useless now. It was the last piece of Larz that was even here, and I was his last real ally. I should have kept it.

Sinora followed me silently as I pitched all of his belongings overboard, watched the mace disappear under the waves.

I could've stayed there for a long time, just watching. The lifeboats on the sixth floor were blocking most of the eerily cold wind, there were no signs of any mutts approaching us. Despite everything that had just happened, we had entered into this brief moment where everything was just quiet.

It was the sight of a sponsor gift that finally made me look away.

It landed silently, gliding over the balcony ten feet to Sinora's left. She glanced towards it, and then at me, several times, looking almost a little hesitant. It was already fairly easy to tell what it was, but I still watch her cross over to it, picking it up gently in both hands. Once the silver wrapping flutters off, my suspicions are confirmed. It's a scythe, nearly as tall as she is, and the smile that lights up her face even makes me smile for a moment.

Perfect for someone for Eleven. Kian was alright with them too, in training, but it was probably nothing in comparison to what Sinora can do it with it. She holds it in her hands like it's an everyday object. It probably is.

She looks up at me, still smiling, and nods just as quickly. I'm confused for a moment, until she gestures again, and I look quickly over my shoulder. There's another silver parachute behind me, lying crumpled on the ground, but whatever is holding is keeping it from flying away.

Something for me too. I guess I should've expected it. If Sinora got hers, then it's only appropriate that mine arrive at almost the same time. Maybe this will decide if going to the Feast was even something we should have done in the first place. Right now, it doesn't seem like it.

"If you don't open it, I will," Sinora says, and I don't miss the lightness in her voice. She's trying to make this easier for me.

When I first untangle the parachute from whatever my sponsor gift is, I have no clue what to make of it. It looks like some type of clothing, jet black in colour. The first thing I notice is that it's tailored for me in particular, one arm sewed off like nothing has been so far. I still have no idea what it is, though. It will cover me from neck to waist, like any old shirt, but the material is thick and black, with the slightest sheen to it.

"Kinda looks like some of the bulletproof vests the Peacekeepers in Eleven have," Sinora muses. Somehow, I doubt a gift that extravagant is even allowed. What's the point, if I can't even be injured? It's got to be something else. I trust Lumin, there's no doubt about that, but I just wish he had thought to include a note. Maybe some sort of helpful explanation. It would certainly help.

"Guess we'll find out," I say quietly, and Sinora nods encouragingly. Whatever it is, Lumin must know something I don't. I'll probably need it for something I don't see coming yet.

"Well, let's go inside then," Sinora suggests. "You can put that on and we can both not freeze to death."

We don't go far, just enough to find a room to lock ourselves into for a few minutes. Sinora keeps watch at the door while I change, pulling the new clothing over my head. It's thick, but it's still cool. There's not even any room for me to wiggle my coat back on over-top, but I guess that might be the point. I still roll it up and shove it into my bag, just in case.

You never know. I think I've demonstrated that perfectly, these past few days.

"All good?" Sinora questions when I step around the corner. I nod, shouldering my backpack, and she hands me the hammer in her belt wordlessly. I've still got my machete, but when she hands it to me it's not just her giving me a weapon.

It's a sign that we're in this together. That we're really allies. She's got her real weapon, and I've got mine. I no doubt look awful - I've been crying a lot in recent hours, and now I'm splattered with blood. Abel's blood. The new clothing helps. It makes me feel a little bit like a new person, or maybe like the old Kole. Like I didn't kill someone, like I haven't watched all my allies die.

I don't need to be a new person. The old Kole can do this just fine. Not on her own, though. For once in my life, I'm going to accept some help.

"Let's go," I say simply, eerily reminiscent of that morning, leaving with Larz and Kian that day. Off to war. A war that we all but lost.

It's time to start a new one.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

None of my plans have worked thus far.

I only went to the feast to look for two specific people, both of whom weren't even there. That resulted in hours of wasted time, a ton more blood loss, and me realizing my stitches were even worse than I had initially believed.

I thought once I got back to the web center I'd be able to sit back down and fix it. It took me all day to get back, I had to take so many breaks. I also detoured for food and water, and that took even longer than I expected. By the time I got back to the fourteenth floor the sun was sinking below the sea, and I didn't realize what that meant until I had a mutt staring me in the face.

The doors to the web center were only cracked open an inch or two, but even in the fading light, I saw it clear as day. The mutt was perched on _my_ desk, clawed hand gripping the computer like it knew that's exactly what I wanted, and the bag full of medical supplies that I stupidly left behind was five feet away from it.

I was in no condition to fight it. I sat outside the room all night, hoping it would leave. That, or kill me. I can't do this. I really can't. I bled sluggishly all night and I can't fix this for good, not unless I get through that thing.

Can I get through it?

It's still there this morning, so I don't really have a choice. It's get through it or bleed to death, because I don't think I have the energy to throw myself overboard and drown.

I stare at it through the doors, and it doesn't move. It's crouched in the darkest corner of the room, now, almost completely hidden in shadow. It must be annoyingly persistent, because they always vanish in the mornings. It wants me to do something.

"I just want my stuff," I say weakly. It stares at me, making some sort of odd noise, and takes a step forward. That's not good. When it uncurls itself from the corner, I almost pass out. Even Erna didn't like the sight of them, and I think that says volumes. What good am I against it, without her? What good am I at anything, really, when she's not here?

"Please?" I ask, taking another baby step forward, and then it jumps towards me.

I drop to the floor, somehow managing to avoid the worst of it. It still lands half on top of me, completely destroying the desk I had been standing next to in it's leap, and I'm nearly deafened by the horrible screech it lets out. It could kill me, and I'm not even really upset about it. It's practically crushing my right arm, so I can't get to the knife, and all my left hand can reach is a jagged shard of what was probably a table leg.

Which might work.

I grab it as best as I can, even though there are claws digging bone deep into my arm and I can hardly breathe through the weight crushing my chest. I strike the mutt in the head, bashing again and again and again, and I knew they were brittle but it's even worse than I thought. It's skull is caving in under the blows, and the second it realizes it's probably done for, scrambling away, I grab the knife and stab it directly in the eye.

It's teeth sink deep into my wrist, but it's dead almost instantly. I shove until it's jaw unlocks from my skin, it's body crumbling to the side, and I follow it's lead, slumping back down to the ground with it still half-crushing me.

My wrist and arm are gushing blood now, joining my side in the list of things currently killing me. There's pieces of the table digging into the back of my head and neck. My backpack is still fifteen feet away.

My head's so fuzzy that the thought of me killing something doesn't even register. The only thing that really makes sense is the barely there pinging coming from the ceiling, so quiet I'm almost sure I'm hallucinating it, and then something new lands on my chest.

The silver parachute flutters lightly against my face for a moment before going still, and I blink at it slowly for a while before letting my head thunk back onto the floor.

"Thanks," I whisper. I should probably look at it before I pass out. Kiero deserves that much, at least. And I really do appreciate it, it's just I can't really think straight at this moment in time. Even as I struggle to unwrap it, my shaking fingers pulling the parachute apart, I still don't even get it. It's a bottle, about half the size of my hand, capped and filled with a clear liquid. I almost spill the entirety of it on myself trying to tell what it is. It doesn't smell like sleep syrup, even though it looks like it, and I'm pretty sure I've been passing out enough on my own.

It's safe, it has to be, so I down the whole thing before I can change my mind about it.

Nothing happens for a long while, and my eyelids eventually close without my permission. When I finally wake again, nothing hurts.

The feeling of just ... nothing is so weird that I just lay there for a long moment, even though I'm pretty numb and there's still pieces of the table digging into the small of my back. I press a hand to my side, and there's nothing. My coat is still soaked in blood, but the wound underneath is gone. Completely closed up. The ruins of the stitches are gone too.

I sit up too fast, my head spinning, and yank the arm of my coat up. The open, ugly puncture wounds where teeth had been are gone, covered by a thick ugly scar, but they're gone. It could've been a weapon, something more obviously important, but Kiero sent what I needed right now, something that will let me stand up and move and be whatever shell of myself I still have left.

There's so much ruin around me, so much blood soaked into the carpet, that I should be dead.

I can't believe I'm not dead.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

We can't find either of them.

It's safe to say I'm getting more than a little hysterical about it.

Meritt just being ... gone doesn't sit any better than the blood stain on the wall where Kal had been. The only thing we have to go on is a barely there blood trail that disappears outright in some places. It's been hours of back-tracking and wrong directions and guessing if the blood is even Kal's, in some places. What if it's someone elses and we're just looking for nothing?

Duke's just as worried as I am, and he might be doing an even more terrible job at hiding it than I am.

We've been walking blind for a few minutes, but there's only one more floor to go down into, and that's supposed to be off limits for regular passengers. However, the restricted area door pushes open easily enough, opening into a spiral staircase the colour of ash. Below there's rows of machinery and engines, the hum vibrating off the walls. What really catches my attention, though, is the streak of blood along the railing. It's not perfectly fresh, but it's something.

I can't vault any faster down the stairs if I tried, and Duke's already pushed past me and is halfway down. He takes off in one direction once he hits the bottom, and I have enough sense to go the other way. Something happened, and someone was here, and someone might still be.

There are doors leading elsewhere, but there's no sign of the blood anymore. I crane my neck up, scanning the catwalks and the doors above me, but I can't see anything. Dammit all to hell.

"Seren!"

Uh-oh. I turn back, following the sound of Duke's voice, because if I know anything it's the sound of panic, and that panic is loud as day.

He didn't go far, just to the back corner of the room, but most of it is blocked off by the engines. There's a door to the left, and the tiniest hallway to take towards it, and that's it. You wouldn't find it unless you were really lucky.

And of course, that's where Kal is.

He's tied to the one part of the engine that's jutting out, the rope cutting so far into his skin there's no way he has any feeling in his hands. He's also unconscious, barely even sitting upright, and his entire leg is drenched in blood. Duke's crouched in front of him, clearly not even knowing where to start with whatever he just stumbled on.

I drop down next to him, ignoring the blood soaking into the knees of my pants, and put a hand on each side of Kal's face.

"Hey," I say insistently. "Come on, you're not dead, come _on_."

He kind of stirs under my hands, so weakly at first I think I'm imagining it, and then he blinks at me. It takes him a few seconds to even realize it's me, and even then, his eyes are just as cloudy as they were when he first opened them.

"Hi," he mumbles, apparently relying on me to hold his head up. "I'm bleeding."

"We've fucking realized," Duke says through his teeth. He reaches forward and tears a strip off the bottom of Kal's shirt, already reaching for his leg. We need to at least stop some of the bleeding, and taking the knife out isn't exactly going to help.

"Hey, that was my shirt," Kal protests weakly. "And you ... you probably shouldn't do that. He'll know you were here. When he comes back."

"Who?"

"Meritt." And, well. To say both Duke and I just kind of stare blankly at him is an understatement.

"Repeat what you just said," I instruct. Kal rolls his head back until it thunks against the engine, and winces.

"Why," he complains. "I know you both heard me."

I stare at the ropes around his wrist, the blood soaked into his hairline, the knife sticking out of his thigh. I heard him, loud as day. Both of us did. But that doesn't mean it makes sense. Duke looks at me, out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to decide how he feels. I don't even know if I believe him.

"He kinda, he kinda snapped," Kal rambles. "Thinks I killed Alana. He knocked me out and carried me down here, which he shouldn't have been able to do. I mean, I'm heavier than him and his arm's mostly broken, but I've stopped questioning that about him, I think. He's like a super soldier, or something. There's lots of them in the mountains. And then he got angry and stabbed me and disappeared. I don't know."

When he doesn't get a response, Kal rolls his head almost perfectly back into my waiting hands. "I'm being serious."

"Are you sure it's not just the bloodloss? Duke asks skeptically.

" _Yes_ ," he insists. "It's like, some top secret organization or something. Not anymore though. And he's kind of a loose cannon, and they wanted him to die, so now he's here. Riveting story. Would have appreciated it if he hadn't stabbed me. Don't really blame him though."

Trying to form all of this into a story in my mind is almost too overwhelming. A solider. An organization. Meritt, a part of some sort of massive secret, trying to maintain some sort of normalcy only to let it slip. And once it did, everything came rolling downhill at a breakneck pace. Too fast for him and anyone else to avoid.

I squeeze my eyes shut, because it makes no sense and complete sense at the same time. Somehow, even though he's acting delusional, what Kal's saying makes sense. It always did, really.

"I thought he would've been back by now. You guys should probably leave in case he does."

I elect to ignore that sentence completely, shuffling around until I can get at his hands. The ropes are so tight I'm probably going to have to saw through them with a knife. His wrists are already torn to shreds anyway.

"Seren, come back here for a second," Kal insists, and I scramble back until I can look him in the eye. Duke hasn't even moved. There's a level of shock in his eyes that I'm somehow managing to shove away for the sake of it.

"Would you stop it?" He asks. "He's gonna ... he's gonna come back eventually. And if I'm gone, or if you're both here, he'll lose it even more. I don't want all of us to die. Not for no reason."

"You want us to leave you here." Duke's voice is even, as calm as he can manage, but I can hear how thick it really is.

"I think that maybe if I'm still here when he gets back I can fix it. Fix him. And we can all survive this."

"And what if you can't?" I question.

"You still got that lighter?" I nod, and instantly dig around in the side pocket of my bag for it. I found it behind the bar out first day in here. It never had any real purpose, because we never needed a fire, but it could've been useful. Kal wiggles his hands until I get the message, wedging the lighter between his tightly bound fingers. He keeps a hold of it until it's in a position he thinks is okay, and then closes his fist around it, nodding slightly.

"And you see that pipe over there? Go break it open for me."

I follow his gaze to one of the thin pipes running horizontally along the wall, and I already know what it is.

"No," I say flatly. "Absolutely fucking not, you are not blowing yourself up if you can't fix this. And you thought there was something wrong with _my_ head."

Duke gets up, disappearing from my side, and leaves bloody footprints behind him as he crosses over to the pipe. He strikes the blunt end of his sword against it, repeatedly, until I see the slightest crack start to form. There's no instant spew of gas into the air, but it's there.

"Duke, _stop_ —"

"What if he can't fix this?" Duke shouts. "What if none of us can fix this? He's right. If we're here it'll be worse. The best we can do is stay close, stay outside one of the doors and wait for it to work. But if it doesn't, if things go wrong, then there needs to be another way."

I shake my head, already feeling tears at the corner of my eyes. It can't happen like this. I won't let it.

"I don't want this either," Duke whispers. "But we'll never be able to kill him. Either of them, even if we can intervene, even if it's for their own good. But maybe if we leave it up to Kal, if Meritt can somehow manage to turn back the clock, it might work."

"I want you to go," Kal murmurs instantly. "For once in your life listen to somebody, and just let it be me. Whether the two of us walk out of here, whether I end up killing both of us ... when I finish this I want to know you're both alive. That's all I want."

It's like when we separated the first time, and that was hard enough. I didn't really think either of us would die that time. Kal could die soon, if we leave him. So could Meritt. All I have to do is walk away. Deep down, I know it's the right way to go. We can stay close by, wait for things to transpire. We can fix the mess this alliance has turned into. Kal's done things more impossible than this.

I'm crying. Careers aren't supposed to cry, but I never really was a proper one, was I?

I put my hands back on either side of Kal's face and lean forward, pressing my lips against his forehead. I'm shaking too. I'm a downright mess, and somehow Kal's smiling. Of course, the one person I choose to listen to, and it comes down to him. I should've known from the beginning.

He's still smiling when I pull back. "I'll be fine. Go."

Just like I said when we split up to fight Alana. And we won that. Maybe he can do it on his own this time. I have to believe that.

Making myself step back, away from him, is harder than I could've possibly imagined. Duke's still lingering, uneasy, by the broken pipe, and I stand as close to his side as I can without stepping on him. He's the only reassurance I have left.

"I'm not saying goodbye to you," he directs to Kal. "This isn't it."

"It's not," Kal agrees.

Duke and I basically have to pull each other from the room, both of us taking step after hesitant step to the door on our left. I keep glancing back, just to make sure Kal's still there. Each time I do he manages a smile once again, still blood-soaked, the agony still written across his face despite it. There's nothing else we can do, not to fix him or to help him. This is his alone.

It's not the end, though.

It can't be.

* * *

Not recommended: updating while on mobile. Did it on time, though, so that's pretty sweet.

Poll's still up if someone didn't get to that. No one's voted for the actual final 3 yet and I'm kind of excited to see if anyone actually will. Impress me. Not much else to say. Next's weeks update might be a little screwy. Or non-existent. We'll see what happens because even I don't know what the hell I'm doing day to day anymore. I actually promise we're in the home stretch. For real this time.

Until next time.


	35. I Want To Live

Arena, Evening, Day Eight.

* * *

 **Kal Arker, 18 years, District Six Male**

* * *

I'm almost certain Meritt's never going to come back when I hear a door creak open.

I had resigned myself to bleeding out. Seren and Duke may have come back, eventually, once they realized nothing was happening, but that might've been too late. It feels like Meritt's been gone for days. The only reason I know it's even him is because I heard the door and nothing else. Anyone else would have made more noise.

My eyes are still half-closed when I finally see him, because I've been at least attempting to conserve what little energy I have left. The real question is if Meritt will see the broken pipe, the lighter still clenched between my fingers. It might be game over if he does.

He stares at me, silently, unmasked horror written across his face. That might be a good sign. Maybe he's finally realized what happened. It's up to him, though. I learned the hard way not to push him. Letting him make the first move has to be the right decision. Hopefully it doesn't end up with me dead. I smile, just a bit, at him, and close my eyes again. It's getting really hard to stay awake.

The noise of his footsteps gets closer. My heart rate goes up, not of my own accord. Apparently I'm still terrified. One of Meritt's hands grabs my arm and there's an immense amount of pressure on my wrists, my skin practically burning, and then the ropes holding my hands disappear.

Oh.

Apparently I underestimated just how much energy I had left. The ropes, evidently, were the only thing still holding me up, and as soon as they're gone so am I.

Meritt stops my face from smashing into the ground by inches. I'm basically hovering, staring at the grooves in the cement floor, dangling off Meritt's arm. I can't move my arms from behind my back because they've been forced there for so long, and I have no idea how I plan on holding onto the lighter. It's not the greatest position.

"Kal—"

"I'm fine," I manage. "I'm just going to stay here for a minute. Or an hour."

I probably don't have an hour, but at least the feeling is coming back to my arms and hands. I wiggle my fingers, and they burn like no tomorrow, but at least it's significant progress. I'm proven completely wrong when I actually try to move my arms back in front of me and my hand spasms so bad the lighter clatters onto the floor.

I take back what my optimistic thoughts were telling me. I'm definitely dead now.

Meritt, by some miracle, is still holding me up, but I feel him reach for the lighter with his other hand. I sit up before he can do anything else, leaning back against the engine to keep myself upright. He hasn't appreciated brutal honestly thus far, but it's pretty much all I've got going for me.

"They were here," I tell him. "And they don't want either of us to die, but they left it up to me. I've said it a thousand times already but we can fix this. This doesn't have to be it. But if you want it to be ... it ends right here. And I'll accept that."

He follows my gaze when I glance over at the broken pipe, and he knows instantly. Fire and gas. An explosion that will kill us both, if it comes to that. No matter how bad I'm hurting right now, I know I want to get through this. I just don't know if he does.

"Do you want to live?" I ask him. "Because I do."

"I don't deserve to live."

"Bullshit. Doing bad things doesn't always mean you deserve to die."

Meritt sighs shakily and tips the lighter back into my hand. I blink at it for a moment, surprised. I just gave him the knowledge that I could kill him in a matter of seconds, and he doesn't appear to care. I don't know if that means he's done with the world, or if he's done talking about it. All I know is I'm not. I flick the cap off the lighter, letting my finger hover over the button on the side. One second and it's over. Just like that.

"Tell me you wanna die," I insist. "Tell me you do without hesitation and I'll do it."

He swallows, looking from the lighter back to my face. Now I'm really terrified. This isn't about me, though. This is about him, and how the place he came from fucked him up so bad that he doesn't even know how to answer me. They always told him death wasn't an option, that he couldn't die unless they said so. Well, they told him to, but the human inside him doesn't want to, and I can see that clear as day.

"Where are they?" He asks uncertainly.

"Probably not far. And we can go out there, we can find them. I promise you this will be okay."

"Okay," Meritt forces out, nodding. He's still fighting that war inside him, there's no doubt about it. " _Okay_."

If a real victory feels anything like this, it might be worth it in the end.

It was better leaning on him than it is sitting up, and maybe now he trusts himself to keep me off the ground. I lean forward, letting my head rest against his shoulder. Maybe I was a little serious about the hour. There's no way I'm getting out of here walking on my own. Meritt might just have to drag me back to Seren and Duke. It doesn't matter how we get there, at this point, as long as we do.

I look down at my hand, evening out my breathing. My finger is still resting against the edge of the button, ready to light up the entire room. I don't have to now, though. I can't help but smile, and it feels like life returns back to me.

"Kal," Meritt whispers. He puts a hand on the back of my shoulder, like he's trying to reassure me that it's okay. Sure I'm bleeding a hell of a lot, but I'm certain he's the one that needs to be reassured right now.

"Yeah?"

"Your brother's alive."

I freeze. The smile slips off my face in one smooth motion, but I can't lift my head from Meritt's shoulder. I never told him. The only person that was there with me was Seren, and she never brought it up again. There's no way. Meritt never knew. He can't _know_.

My hand tightens around the lighter without thinking.

The button caves in under my finger.

The last thing I see is the flame come to life, before the room explodes.

* * *

 **Glenn Aspen, 17 years, District Seven Male**

* * *

The entire ship rocks under me.

I have no choice but to stop. That, or risk falling over. I always thought it was weird, that we never felt any motion, but I guess the boat was never really moving in the first place. Somehow I don't think they're moving it this late in the game. Only issue is I have no idea what else could have caused that.

The lights above me go out in one smooth motion, just as two cannons go off.

 _Great._

It's not even like they flickered out, the whole line of them down the hallway. All of the light is gone, just like that. Whatever just happened was enough to shut down the whole power system, by the looks of it. There's no light coming from under any closed doors and not in any direction I can see. I should've made myself go back for the flashlight, but I wouldn't have been able to handle looking at Abel's body. I'm not an idiot.

I've still got the flares, but they'll fizzle out eventually and they can't have been meant for me to light the way.

And, like it's life telling me exactly what I need them for, there's a screeching down the hall.

It sounded pretty far, the noise echoing towards me, but if I run away from it it's going to come after me anyway. I can keep running and I can keep being scared, and truly that's what I want to do, but no one else would want me to be like that. Abel especially. I've already proved that I don't have to be a terrified little kid who spends his time hiding, and he saw that too. He believed it.

Mistake or not, I turn around and head back towards the noise.

The Final 8. Six now, I guess. The lights going out. The mutts. How close are we, till the end?

I catch sight of the mutt around the next corner. It's still down at the other end of the hall, but already I know it's bigger than the one I killed, and I didn't even know that was possible. It's swinging it's head around, like it's looking for anything at all, but it hasn't noticed I'm here yet.

All I have is the inkling that this will actually work. It it doesn't, I'm as good as dead. My guts telling me I'm right, though, and it's all I have left to rely on. If it's wrong, what's the point in continuing anyway?

"Hey!" I shout. Instantly, the mutt turns towards me, and I raise the flare gun, just praying. Please work. This has to work.

It crosses the hallway in a matter of seconds, propelling it's gangly legs off the wall, and it's ten feet from taking my head off when I fire.

It's stupidly like slow motion, watching the flare strike the mutt in the center of the chest. Sparks fly off onto the ground at it's feet, and for a long moment it doesn't seem like anything is going to happen, and I'm going to die because I dared to trust myself too much.

The mutts entire body explodes into flames.

It's dying screams are worse than it's living ones. The fireball is illuminating everything around me, and it's just screaming and screaming, but the fire continues burning away at it until there's nothing left but an awful stench leftover in the hallway, the smoking ruins of it's body left on the ground just in front of me. The last of the fire dies out because there's almost nothing left for to to catch onto it.

Just like that, it's dead. And just like that, three more appear to replace it.

I have have over-simplified this.

Kill one mutt. Easier than I thought. Kill two, against all odds. More than that, though? Might not work out as well as I had planned. There's no way I'll be able to stop them quick enough, and the noise I just made is going to bring them all down on me, one after the other, unless I take advantage of everything I have.

I sprint away, back the way I came, firing one more shot over my shoulder just before I round the corner. I don't stop to see what happens, but the explosion of heat at my back is enough to confirm that I hit at least one of them. There's nowhere for me to go, though. There's another one in the direction I'm heading, and I have no choice but to slam through the nearest doorway and up into the stairwell.

I take up the stairs as fast as I can, but I'm not even two landings up when the door slams open again and they're following me up. Not close enough to kill me by any means, but I sure as hell can't stop running.

There's none above me, though. If they really wanted me did there would be.

They're letting me go somewhere.

There's only two more floors after running for only a minute, and then I'll either be trapped at the door at the top or I'll get away.

I hit the next landing. They're getting closer. I fire again, but it ricochets off the wall and goes rolling down the stairs instead of hitting any of them. I slam my shoulder into the door at the top of the stairs and it gives away under my weight, sending me flying out into the open air beyond and I kick the door shut as fast as I can.

At least two or three of them slam into the door at the same time, but it's solid metal and it might take them a while to get through. It gives me a few moments to lie, sprawled out on the ground and panting like I'll never get my breath back. All my eyes can see is the sky, and it's almost completely dark. I'm as high up as you can go on the ship, and it's nothing but the tiniest piece of deck and railings, like a lookout over the rest. My eyes land on the pools and the restaurants and deck chairs spread out everywhere, somehow still immaculate, and that's when I see them.

It's almost like a trick of my imagination. Kole and Sinora, on the complete other end of the ship. It's impossible to tell what they're even doing from this distance, but just seeing is enough.

I'll climb over the railing and drop off. I'll already be on the same deck as them. No doubt they'll have moved, possibly far far away, but the time I get anywhere close, but it's more of a sighting I've had since ... since Abel. Since Kole killed him and since Sinora defended it.

The mutts are still working at the door behind me. They pushed me up there. They wanted me to see.

I have to go, and fast.

I have to go after them.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

For the first time since we got in here, I think we actually have a plan. A plan that will work and won't involve losing anyone.

I mean, I hope. I don't know how far hope will go, at this point. Clearly it hasn't done much for me in the past. Kole either. It's the thought that counts, I guess.

It's still freezing above deck, but right now being below is even worse. It's too dark, too claustrophobic in the lightless hallways. All we have out here is the moon and the dying rays of the sun, but it's still better than having nothing at all. And this way, we'll be able to see someone coming from every direction.

I never thought there would be a purpose for this rock wall until now.

It looks a lot like the one in the training center, just a lot more colourful. It towers up into the darkening sky, ropes dangling from some parts of it. No one can approach us from our backs unless they're extremely determined, and we've taken care of every other direction. We've also proven that we're shoddy barricade builders, but sue me, I've never practiced this. We spent hours dragging chairs over and breaking wooden pieces of stands to form a three-sided, almost circle in front of the rock wall. With that at our back and a barricade protecting the rest, we should have an advantage.

Theoretically.

I finish clearing a path for myself to scramble through back and forth throughout the barricade, testing my weight on some of the smaller pieces. Now I can scramble in and out, if I need to. Kole's looks like she's having about as much fun with the task as I am, which isn't much.

I stop what I'm doing instantly when the music of the anthem starts. It doesn't really matter who the two cannons belonged to, with how close we are, but it's still two people closer.

The two faces in the sky belong to the boys from Two and Six. The one who got an eleven and the other who somehow managed to get in with a group of Careers. Them being gone will no doubt make it easier for us.

"That's good," I manage, even though I know how awful I am for saying it. It's the truth, no matter how terrible it sounds. If that entire alliance really did make it this far together, than losing two of them will give us a chance. Maybe they were someone's brothers, or best friends, or family, but they're my ticket a bit closer to the end of this. Kole still hasn't said anything. It's not hard to imagine someone saying the same thing about Larz, when they saw his face in the sky.

Arella was one of those people too, and the thought barely crossed my mind.

It's official. I have almost every quality of someone who's unnaturally abhorrent. Somehow I don't think Eleven would mind, though. As long as I bring food and money back with me they could care less about the type of person I become.

I guess the interviews will prove that. If only I could have seen them. No doubt Sabrine said something snarky, and my parents did something that may or may not have resembled damage control.

Fuck, I miss them. I never thought I'd miss them the way I do. I always thought I could handle myself, that I didn't need them constantly crowding around me and I could take care of them single-handedly. We have it rough enough without them having to put in extra work too.

"You okay?" Kole asks, already scrambled halfway across the barricade to get back down to solid ground. I should be asking her the same question. We may be different, but we're creepily similar at the same time. Shoving everyone away for the sake of it. Failing miserably anyway. And now we've finally accepted that maybe this is the situation we were meant to be in.

If only we didn't have to go through so much shit to get here.

"I'm fine," I inform her, and somewhere deep down, it actually feels true. Maybe it won't always, but right now I can say it without feeling like a liar.

"If someone kills me, you better give them hell," Kole tells me. "I'll do the same for you. And if it comes down to the two of us..."

I can't imagine what I'll do if it comes down to the two us. On one hand, it should be easy. If I could kill Arella and Kinnon, why not Kole? She's different, though. _I'm_ different. I said I wouldn't do this again, that putting myself through yet another betrayal would just destroy me.

"Don't go easy on me," I say instead of the million of other sentimental things I could have. I don't think I've ever been a sentimental person, and I'm sure as hell not about to start now. Not when we're this close.

Kole smiles grimly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Kole probably deserves it more than I do. God knows she's been through enough. That's still no reason to give up. Awful people have won in the past and no doubt they'll keep winning until this game turns to dust.

Which means I have a chance.

Right now, a chance is all I need.

* * *

 **Duke Galore, 18 years, District One Male**

* * *

The entire world is fire.

One minute I was standing, the next I was laying flat on my back. Every part of the world left to me is painted in shades of orange and red, black clouding the edges of my vision. There's a possibility I've landed myself in literal hell. Everything is burning.

I need to get up. I need to move.

I stumble to my feet, wobbling all over the place. The ringing in my ears is deafening. The metal wall that I was in front of is completely gone. Most of the hallway we were standing is had been obliterated, massive holes in every direction. We. Where _we_ were standing. Where the _fuck_ is Seren?

I don't even know what direction I was facing, but she can't be far. We were less than a hundred feet from where we left Kal, and now ...

Kal's dead. Meritt might be dead too.

This isn't happening.

"Seren!" I yell, even though I'm half-choking. The smoke is so thick in the air that I can hardly see, let alone breathe. There's probably a chance something could still blow down here. We need to leave, and I can't leave without her, and of course that's when she stumbles directly into my back.

I'm not even sure she saw me, but she grabs me nonetheless, more to keep both of us steady than anything else.

"You okay?" I say, although shouted is probably more accurate. Everything sounds so eerily quiet when it shouldn't be. Seren's covered in dust, soot streaked across her face, and all she does is stare blankly back the way she came from, horror in her eyes. So a resounding not okay, then, and the longer I look at her the more I feel it in myself too.

There's no words to describe what just happened, and we didn't even see it.

"We need to—"

"I heard both of the cannons," she says softly. "I thought I was imagining it, but I wasn't."

That confirms it, then, and it's not the smoke that's making my throat close up. I just need to get out of here, and apparently, so does Seren. I don't even need to drag her with me when I head in the direction of where I last saw the staircase. They wouldn't trap us down here, right? The stairs are rickety, the metal looking almost half-melted, but it holds under our weight while we climb up. We're both holding onto each other at this point, just making sure the other is still there.

It's just step after step, door after door. The smoke is thinning out, but I'm still wobbling. Is that me or the ship? Whatever just happened, it took everything in my brain, rattled it around, and then left it in that scattered formation. Nothing makes any sense right now.

Seren lurches away from me at the next landing and shoves the door open, nearly falling to the ground in her haste to just get out. Freezing night air blasts me in the face, and it's a relief. Breathing doesn't feel like it's helping any, but it means I'm alive.

Seren sits down on the ground next to me, leaning back against the wall next the door, hands over her face. I couldn't even make it over to the railing to get as far away from the mess as possible. It seems like an impossible distance, even from here. This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't say goodbye for a reason.

"We're shit Careers," Seren manages, looking up at me. Now I'm crying too. Were we ever proper Careers in the first place? The number one rule is to not let your emotions rule you, and that's all we've done. I killed Cerise not just because she was the competition, the enemy, but because I wanted to. I went after Erna because I wanted an ounce of satisfaction for the first time in my life. All I've done is let my emotions take over. Frankly, it kind of sucks.

A parachute smacks me in the back of the head.

Apparently the world thinks so too.

"It's not mine," I sigh, and Seren stares at it, still on the ground. Even if I couldn't already see the number two embroidered on the side, it's not like I've done anything to deserve it. Seren ran head-first into the Feast, not me.

Seren nods, swallowing, and stands up to grab it off the ground. Deep down, I always suspected she was the strongest in the group, and I was probably right. She unwraps the parachute, clearly trying not to react. Even when I see it, I don't know how to react.

It's a full body wetsuit. Or at least that's what it looks like. There are even two dark red stripes down each leg and arm, like it's proving that it's hers. She looks at me, and I look back. If the water was cold when we went in it the first time, it's no doubt freezing at this time. It probably wouldn't take long for you to lose some fingers or toes after spending too long in that water. Now she has protection from it.

Like a cue, there's an ear-grating creak, so loud it's almost like thunder. The ship shakes under our feet again. And this time, I know the wobble isn't just my brain getting rattled around.

I make myself go to the railing, hands locking white-knuckled around the edge of it. The water is churning beside the ship, waves smashing up against the side of it, and there's a hole the size of a small fucking planet in the side of it.

That's not good. That's _really_ not good.

"I think I know why you're gonna need that," I tell Seren, trying to keep my voice calm. It must not work, because she jogs to my side, still clutching tight onto the wetsuit, and looks over.

"You've got to me fucking _kidding_ me," she hisses.

None of us payed any attention to how close we were to the bottom to the ship, to the side of it. When the explosion went off, it started a chain reaction that destroyed everything down there, including the outer hull. Now there's water rushing headlong into the bottom of the ship, within a few hours this thing could be tilted straight up into the air, and I have no idea what the hell to do.

"I know one thing," Seren says. "I'm not through yet. Are you?"

Both of us look pretty through with it all, but if Seren's not done yet, than neither am I. No matter what we lost. Maybe that just gives us more motivation. I shake my head and she smiles sadly, squeezing my hand painfully tight.

"We're going to do this."

"We are," I agree. "Now go put that thing on and let's really do it."

Am I really ready for this? Am I ready to walk right into the end of all of this? Maybe not, but looking down at the water I know the time to make our own choices is over. We can either lie down and die or keep going.

I'm not letting Seren do this on her own. Not after what just happened.

I guess this is our last stand.

* * *

If we're gonna keep a running gag list of shit I'm ripping off, you might as well add Titanic to the list.

And apparently I lied, because I'm updating today and next week is when I'm not going to update because I've got too much going on. It's probably best that you have a break between this chapter and next just because. There's only two Games chapters left, and that should speak volumes about just how much has to happen. So if any of you are interested in catching up on reviews ... or even just reviewing in general, it would be much appreciated. I miss them.

Until next time. And I swear, I'm not putting the poll results up until someone gets it right.


	36. Red Sky At Morning

Arena, Early Morning, Day Nine.

* * *

 **Kole Chambers, 17 years, District Five Female**

* * *

The ship's been sinking all night.

It took us longer than it probably should have to realize we were getting closer to the water. It really only happened because the ship started tilting, too, and now it's several degrees too high in comparison to where it should be.

I feel like it should be going faster than this. Maybe the Gamemakers are trying to stop us all from drowning outright. Even I know that's kind of boring. Pair that with the fact that probably none of us can swim besides the Careers that are left, and it's downright depressing.

I watch as the first chair escapes our home-made barricade, sliding at a breakneck pace down the deck until it lands in the now half empty pool. The rest of the barricade probably won't much last longer. So much for a good plan. It would have been a good plan, I really believe that. I guess we should've put in a back-up plan for a 'ship started sinking, what do we do now' type event.

Sinora keeps glancing around like she figured she'd end up in this situation eventually. I should have guessed it as well. Things have never really gone as planned in my life.

"No offense, but I'm getting out of here for a few minutes. I feel like I'm going to get crushed."

I watch as Sinora clambers over and out of the barricade, landing with a visible sigh of relief on the other side. At the bottom of the pile, yet another thing slips out of the barricade and goes crashing down towards the water. It's gone so quickly I can't even tell what it is.

Sinora's waiting for me, to see if I want out too. God knows how many times I've almost plummeted face-first into it trying to scramble over. Sinora's just offering me a hand, trying to make it easier. More like trying to save me from embarrassing myself yet again.

Her hand locks around my arm just as she looks around a bit, glancing up at the still darkened floodlights, and then she shoves me backwards so hard I don't even have time to react.

There's a sharp _crack_ as soon as I hit the ground on my back, but it definitely didn't come from me. It takes me a second to realize that Sinora not only shoved me back, but she flung herself five feet away from the barricade as well.

Then the whole thing bursts into flames.

I let out a shriek that by far trumps any embarrassing thing I've previously done. It's not just shock. It's the burn scars on my neck and what's left of my shoulder and waking up to a gaping nothingness on my left side. It's Atticus telling me the arm was gone because Mom and Dad were too busy crying.

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me!" Sinora shouts upwards, and that's enough to snap me out of my stupor for now. I'm still laying flat on my back, so all it takes is me looking up to see Glenn quite literally dangling off of the top of the rock wall, flare gun in one hand.

This I should've seen coming.

He fires another shot, directly at me, and I roll out of the way before it can make contact. It just adds itself to the inferno in front of me. I don't have anywhere to go, though.

Sinora can already see it in my eyes. I can't willingly light myself on fire just to get out of here.

I need to stop being scared, once and for all. It's not death that scares me. Death came for me a long time ago. It's looking up at him, taking whatever happens, that scares me.

I do it anyway. He looks scared too. That doesn't make it any easier.

He fires another shot. I'm not moving. I need to stop running, once and for all.

The flare hits me so hard, square in the chest, that I nearly fall back into the burning barricade anyway. But nothing happens. I feel it land just next to my feet, rolling away like the second one.

"Kole!"

I blink open my eyes. When did I even close them? Sinora is staring at me, barely visible through the flames, and I'm absolutely fine. There's no burning scorch mark through my chest. In fact, the clothing isn't even singed.

 _Like some sort of bulletproof vest._ Not bulletproof, though.

Fireproof.

I lunge back towards the fire instead of away, and Sinora gets it too. She flings her arms through the flames towards me, even though the the edge of her jacket is already being eaten away, her hands blistered. I'm only half safe, but Sinora practically slings me back over the barricade with her, and the fire at my legs is gone before it can even start.

Glenn's gone. Not for long, though. I leap back to my feet, hammer in hand. Sinora presses her back against mine, both blistered hands grasping at the handle of the scythe even though she keeps wincing.

Neither of us have any words left. Even though my heart is still hammering against my ribcage, the fire can't hurt me. Not unless I let it. I see a flare burst to life just to our left before the noise rings out into the air, and I swivel Sinora behind me before it's halfway to her. It bounces off my covered arm, looking completely harmless as it skids away and off the deck.

The deck's slant is getting more noticeable. I don't know how much longer we have.

"It's too dark," Sinora hisses. "He can see us better than we can see him."

I don't know how, but she's right.

"Stay here."

"Why?" She responds.

"Because I can't keep track of both of you and he can't hurt me unless he gets close with the axe. And he won't want to. Not after ... not after Larz." I swallow hard. Maybe I'm wrong. But it's the right thing to do. The stupidly heroic thing to do, but it is nonetheless. I want to do this. I want to do something, prove myself to someone, for the first time in a few years.

I step away from her, making sure she stays put. It's hard to even walk in his direction, but I wrap my arm around each railing as I go and just keep pulling.

I told Sinora to run, all those days ago, because I was afraid of what I'd do if she stayed. I'm not giving him the same luxury.

The place the shot came from is empty. There are potted plants that must be bolted to the ground all around me, and that's it. Everything else has already fallen.

A flare flickers to life out of nowhere, rolling across the ground inches away from my feet. It taps against one of the potted plants, refusing to roll away, and the red glare is just close enough to do any real damage to the impenetrable darkness around me.

By the time I realize what I just did, it's already too late.

A shadow flickers over my shoulder, there's the barest rustle of ferns, and I may be fireproof but I'm not invincible enough to stop an axe.

I turn and swing anyways without even looking, hand still vice tight around the hammer, and connect with _something_ in the darkness. What, I'll never know. Glenn lets out a howl of pain, there's a noise almost like bone crunching, and the last thing I see is red light striking against the corner of the axe.

And for the first time in my life, I am completely and utterly unafraid.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

 _Boom._

All I heard was two seconds of scuffle, a distinctly not Kole-like scream, and then a cannon.

There's no way I'm going to just stand here until one of them walks out.

It feels almost impossible to scramble up the steep slope of the deck, but if Kole did it, then there's no way I shouldn't be able to. Sure, I'm clutching onto the scythe for dear life with both hands, but I need to get up there. She didn't go far, but it somehow manages to feel like miles when I'm doing it.

I push apart the ferns and other assortment of plants, and somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I already know before I even see it.

Kole is laying on her back, eyes closed, face looking every definition of peace. And it would look realistic, almost, if there wasn't a massive gash in the center of her chest, one that would perfectly fit the blade of an axe. The hammer is mere centimeters from her outstretched fingers, like she held onto it for as long as she possibly could have. And she did, there's no doubt about it.

I can barely think about that, though, because for the first time I feel completely unbridled rage in me.

How am I still the last one left, even this time?

I have no clue where Glenn is. Maybe he's hurt, judging by the scream. Kole wouldn't have just sat there and died. That's not who Kole was. Maybe it doesn't matter if he's hurt, if he could set me on fire. Go right ahead. Either way he dies, with or without me.

"You gonna run again?" I yell. I don't care if this is as far from the normal me as I can get. I'm not going to let him run a second time. I knew the first time it was wrong, but I wasn't about to leave Kole. Where did that get either of us? She's dead anyway and I'm still here. Just like always. Just like I should have expected the second I found new allies.

Nothing's ever going to change.

"You're not gonna get away," I manage, but my voice is already trailing off. I shouldn't be talking about it. Finding him is what needs to happen. No matter where he goes, he'll probably make noise, and he won't get anywhere too fast. _Especially_ if he's injured.

I hear the barest noise of footsteps, but they get heavier and more harsh the harder I listen. He's limping, breathing hard. I peek out of the plants and just barely see him, headed back downwards. Towards the rock wall and the smoking remains of the barricade. I don't know how well he can climb injured, but it's still leagues better than me, and I don't want to take my chances.

I have to get there before him.

I step carefully over Kole's body and then dive forewards. If I run for it gravity will probably throw me right past him. My best option is to slide. I let a hand run over the deck as I go, trying to control at least some of my descent. Everything is even more terrifying, from this angle. The water looks miles away, and falling that far would never end well for me.

Glenn must sense me coming, because he speeds up, practically throwing himself against the nearest railing to get closer to the rock wall. I'm still going faster than he is. He locks his hands around the wall just as I slide through where the barricade once was, the embers singeing my back where my coat rides up. He hoists one leg up, but he doesn't get time to bring the injured one up before I grab it.

He screams as I yank him back down next to me, his injured leg getting crushed beneath him. Looks like his kneecap; like it's shattered. That'll certainly do enough damage on it's own. I can't keep a solid hold on him though, because I'm still sliding. I let go before my momentum takes me too far and grab the edge of the wall just before I slid past it completely. He stares at me, five feet up, chest heaving and tears in his eyes.

"You're not even sorry," I spit. "Are you? You wanted to be but you're just so tired you don't care anymore."

It's hypocritical. I know it is. I'm not sorry either, but it's only because I long for this to be over. I don't know how much longer I can do this.

I wait for him to respond, but he says nothing. All he does is take a deep breath, glancing at me and then away for a second. The fire that had lit up the area is slowly being replaced by the sky. It's too bright. It feels like we should be shrouded in darkness, all of us.

Glenn re-adjusts his hold on the wall, hauling himself up and away by just a few inches, but it's nowhere near enough. His hurt leg quakes beneath him when he puts any weight on it, and it's all he can do to hold himself up. I drag myself back towards him, and it's hard to tell which one of us is more desperate.

"I _am_ sorry," he whispers. Like he thinks that'll be enough. Like I'll let him go because he feels remorse.

Maybe that's why he looks so surprised when I raise the scythe.

He tries to scramble away and up, too slow for the last time, and I bury it in-between his shoulder blades.

Glenn lets out a choked sound, blood spilling down his chin, as the blade emerges from his chest and sinks into the wall in front of him. My hands are burning, and I can only stare at the blade that's run him through completely, pinning him to the wall. I sink to the ground still holding onto it, letting my hands drift to the very bottom of the handle.

That's what this was meant for. Killing someone. But all I can think about is Sabrine thinking it was a good idea to chase me in the fields holding one, even though she was so little at the time she could barely heft it up over her shoulder. Was that the last time I really laughed with her?

Glenn finally goes slack, and it takes all of my strength to rip the scythe off of the wall. He goes sliding off the end of it, landing with a thud on the ground, and then I watch as his body slides and rolls away. I keep watching, his blood leaving a trail behind him, until his body slides so far down I can't even see it anymore. Maybe he'll make it all the way to the water.

Kole was six, and he was five. Which means there's only four of us left.

There's no point in being sorry anymore.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

I hate everything about this.

There's really only one thing to do when the ship's almost entirely vertical, and that's go up.

It's kind of hard to do that when you'd rather shut down, both mentally and physically. It's even worse to avoid everything that's falling off the ship and hurtling towards our faces at breakneck speed. Duke almost got clocked in the head by a chair five minutes into the expedition, and after that we'd started going slower.

To me it looks like half the ship has sunken below the water. What's left looks like someone took a wrecking ball to it because of everything that's been crashing downward.

All I can see every time I look down is the crashing, eerily dark waves. The sound of them, combined with the creaking and groaning of the ship, is enough to deafen a person completely. That's no reason to stop, though. If anything it's more motivation to keep going. It's just hand over hand, scrambling over poles and the edges of pools and looking for any possible grip that's left on the ship's deck. It's burying a sword as far as I can in said deck and using it to haul myself up, hoping it won't come loose at the last second.

Soon, there's nowhere left to go.

The bow of the ship is directly in front of us, and there's only one more set of railings to scramble over until we're standing on top it. A set of railings that are, in any other world, supposed to keep us from falling overboard.

Duke pushes me up and over and I reach back down to haul him up next to me. Suddenly we're in a position we've never been in before, looking over the ruins of the ship and the water stretching out in every direction. It's one of the most beautiful sunrises I've ever seen, and it's just enough to make me a little bit angry.

"Yeah, I'm thinking it too," Duke mutters, having noticed the look on my face. It's something Meritt should have seen, for once in his life. Something Kal probably would have smiled at. And neither of us have anything left in us to appreciate it. What's a pretty sunrise when the person next to me, the one person left that I really care about in here, could be dead in a few hours?

That's probably all we have left. The closer we get to the water means the closer the four of us left get.

"Regretting your decision yet?" He asks. I already know he does. I'm pretty sure Duke regretting volunteering five minutes after he stepped on the train. But I didn't think I would. Sure, it was a rash decision, but I didn't think it would get this bad. This out of my control.

I would have never known them, though. Maybe that little bit of happiness makes the agony worth it.

"I'll let you know."

And then the entire ship lurches under our feet. Or more specifically, mine.

A giant chunk of the ship rips right off and plunges into the water, and then the entire thing tilts sideways, and it's enough to send one of my feet right through the railings, catapulting me right off. Everything goes sideways for a second, another gaping hole in the side of the ship not even close to looking right from this angle, and then Duke's hand locks around my wrist.

Which leaves me dangling, several hundred feet in the air, the only thing between me and falling straight into the water being his absolutely terrible grip.

"Five minutes!" He yells. "I wanted five fucking minutes of peace!"

I fell so fast and so hard that Duke had no choice but to almost fling himself off entirely just to save me from falling. The only thing that's keeping him from going over are his feet shoved through the gap in the railing, but almost his entire top half is hanging off with me.

I try to hold myself up as best as I can, but it's only his two hands locked around my one, and it won't last forever.

"How long you think you can hold me?" I force out. Duke re-adjusts his hold. He can probably hold me for a long time, that's if I don't accidentally end up dragging him off first. I stop pedaling my legs in mid-air, because it's doing approximately fuck-all except making the situation worse.

"How long do you think we have?"

An hour at most, before we hit the water. Someone will be up here sooner than that, and he can't pull us both up with how far he's hanging off.

That's Rover's cue to jump into my line of sight.

He's on the other side of the bow, but he's climbing up the railings on the side of a ship. And I thought Duke said he was injured. He sure doesn't look injured to me; climbing up towards us like he was born to do it. _Towards us_. Shit.

"You're gonna have to drop me," I announce, and Duke blinks down at me.

"How many times do we have to ask what's wrong with you?"

 _We_. That hurts just enough on it's own. There's barely a we left anymore.

"You're gonna have a bigger problem to deal with in about two, two and a half minutes tops. Drop me."

Duke finally follows my gaze, grip still vice tight around my wrist. His eyes widen, and his fingers falter for just a second, but he doesn't let go. If only any of them would have ever listened to me. It would have been nice for it to be the other way around.

"I was really hoping I would never have to deal with this!" He shouts, somehow still managing to sound sarcastic. He tries to haul himself backwards, pulling me with him as he goes, and only gets a few inches before he realizes he can't. I knew it. It's too much weight for him to pull up himself. There's only one choice here, unless Rover decides he's had a change of heart and is going to help.

It's almost laughable.

Rover's climbing faster than I thought. Like a ladder, over and over again, feet not hesitating against the railings. Maybe a minute, until he's up here, and it'll take him seconds to get to us after that.

"Listen to me," I insist. His eyes snap down to mine. "Just let go. I'll be fine. I had kind of resigned myself to going in the water anyway, because of the whole wet-suit deal, and I'll make it. I'll climb back up. It's not even that far now."

It might be a lot further when I'm freezing and shaking, no matter how insulated this damn thing is, but I still will. Just to get back up here to him. Duke's not scared of me not making it. He's scared because we haven't gotten any real goodbyes, and this might be the next one.

Rover crests the last of the railings, hauling himself on top of the bow.

"Duke, drop me."

He starts towards us. Duke's fearful to look away from him and fearful to let me go. I know the feeling.

"DROP ME!"

He lets go anyway, fingers slipping completely off my wrists like he still hesitated until the last second, and then I'm falling.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

The Two girl goes plummeting out of sight.

Does it really matter, though? She's not going to be back up here quick enough, if she survives the fall. Duke scrambles backwards, pushing himself away from the edge and to his feet. The sword already in his hand doesn't even phase me. His eyes are trying to seek out where his ally fell, but I don't know if he finds her.

All I care about is him.

"You're that determined, eh?" He asks me. He looks up at me, smiling wryly. "You think I don't know how it feels?"

"You don't."

"I've lost allies too."

"Good," I spit out. Even hearing that word come out of my mouth startles me. Maybe now he's felt a fraction of the pain that I've been feeling for days now. It's still not enough. He doesn't understand and he never will. Not in the way I want him to. Erna may not have been good or pure, but she should have won. The Two boy must be dead, but that's not penance enough. That's not justice.

"She never really cared," Duke says. "Do you even care? Or is it not even really about her."

It is. It has to be about Erna. If it's not about Erna then I don't know why I'm here, why I'm bothering.

"Go ahead then," he invites. "If you're going to kill me, try it. Avenge her. And have fun living with yourself afterwards."

I'm so angry. At him, at myself, at everyone. Even at Erna, for not killing him earlier, at Magne for ruining what could've been. I can't even find a shred of a happy memory when I think about Eight. What was the point of Marcos pulling me out of that alley, of making me better, if I couldn't hold onto that in the end? When was volunteering for Morris ever really going to change things?

It's nothing. Nothing changed.

I'm still the kid that was laying in that alleyway, broken and battered and understanding the way the world works perfectly but refusing to believe that was it.

Now I realize it was. The world's always been that way. I'm the delusional one; it's not going to change just because I want it to. I'm the one that has to change, and somewhere deep down I finally accept that. Being angry, letting the rage win, it's the only way to get through anything. Erna was the perfect embodiment of it.

I dive towards Duke, feet pushing myself as fast as they can against the slick metal hull of the ship. Duke has come to terms with this situation, and it's written all over his face. He still side-steps, avoiding me like he's avoiding a child, and it only makes me angrier.

The next time he doesn't move. He braces himself, almost as unmoving as a statue, so that when I crash into him we're both left standing. I don't even have the knife out. Just the brass knuckles and my bare hands, grasped around his forearms, trying for anything possible. And he's letting me hold onto him, because he knows I can't really do anything, and he slams the sword into the back of my legs so that when he finally go down, he's got the advantage.

I can barely see. Or think straight. His fist slams down into my face, twice in quick succession, until blood spews out of my nose. Even with one hand he's still managing to shove my head back to the ground every time I manage to move upwards.

He's still got the stupid sword. One that looks exactly like Erna's did.

I drive my fist into his neck before he can hit me again, and a tear just like the one on his scabbed over jaw appears, the brass knuckles splitting open his skin. The shock of seeing blood, his blood, because of me, hits me. It hits him too; he's gasping for breath a little, trying to get it back, and I shove myself upwards and lock both hands around the sword.

Both of us stare at my hands digging into the blade, blood already seeping out and landing back on my coat. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. I've had so much worse than this. Losing Erna hurt more than this ever could.

Duke tries to rip the sword out of my hands, but that only digs it in deeper. There's so much blood you can barely see my hands.

I feel it hit bone, across almost all of my fingers, and I suppress the yell in my throat and pull it towards me.

The sword rips free from Duke's grip, and I let it go. It tears out of my hands and I feel some of my fingers go with it at the first knuckle. It's impossible to tell how many. It burns, but Duke is just sitting there looking so surprised as his sword windmills off the side of the ship, at the stumps of at least half of my fingers on my left hand, that he clearly doesn't know how to react.

So I punch him in the face.

The brass knuckles scrape over one of his eyes and his nose, blood welling up so fast he probably can't even see. I lunge forward, trying to wrap my hands around his jacket. I can barely get a good grip on one side, but I drive my feet into the railings so that he hits the ground on his back, scrambling to move away.

I pull his head up, just the slightest bit, and slam his head back into the spot where metal meets railing, the ragged edge of the ship digging right into the back of his head.

I do it again. And again. The fourth time he screams, and I see blood splattered across the white railing. Red and white. All over again.

I feel something sharp against my shoulder and realize he's managed to get a knife. Mine or his, I don't know. It's digging into my muscle, but it's just like my fingers. Pain only matters if you respond to it, and I'm not. Duke is.

His head keeps smashing into the ship, over and over, and it's like it's not even my hands doing it. They're slick with blood, and there's a growing pool underneath us, and he's still screaming, some of the noises turning into a weak gurgle as I slam his head back down. Something else splatters over my finger. His brain, maybe. His head is making cracking sounds now, like it's hitting his skull directly.

I don't know how long later, but there's a voice telling me eventually, somewhere in the back of my mind, that he's stopped screaming.

That's when I stop, and I realize I can't even make sense of what's under me.

There's almost nothing left of Duke's head. The back of his skull is completely caved in, the white of the bone bright against the bloody stumps of my fingers. His eyes are hollow, terrified, completely blank. There's no pulse thumping under my fingertips.

He's dead.

I didn't even hear the cannon.

My hands are so stained with blood, his and my own, that nothing will get it off. I slide off his body, blood soaking into my pant legs, and find that I can't move. It's numbness, his horrified screaming bouncing around in my skull. Because I still have mine. He doesn't.

There's nothing that will help me make sense of it. Alive and then dead. Just like that. There can be so much power in one person's hands, ruined as they are. Mine have been ruined for a long time.

I still can't move. So I sit there, in the pool of his blood, and take a deep breath. Let it wash over me. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to convince myself how wrong this all is. The switch has been flicked, though, as easy as the lights. Emotions, feelings, humanity. All off.

I can't feel anything.

* * *

If I'm ever _not_ an asshole about choosing the Final 3, assume I've been body-snatched.

Gimme those predictions, alright, about my slightly asshole-ish Final 3. Who do you think is going to win, who do you want to win, whatever you want, etc. I never thought I'd get to the point where I was killing people almost at the pace of my ultra small bloodbath but I am just way too eager to finish this, at this point. This was so hard to write tho I loved all of these guys don't hate me for real.

Should I put a poll up? I'm putting a poll up. For one last time, just entertain me.

Until next time.


	37. Last Day On Earth

Arena, Early Morning, Day Nine. Part II.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**

* * *

I hit the water so hard there's no other thought in my mind.

If jumping in the first time was bad, this is worse. It was double the height, and the water's so cold now I wouldn't be surprised if a chunk of ice floated past me. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins, the breath in your throat. It's all I can do just to keep myself moving. Pieces of broken furniture swirl past my face, barely visible, but somehow I can still see light.

I break the surface, drawing in a huge breath like that will be enough to chase away the ice crystals I'm probably imagining in my throat. It doesn't feel any nicer being above water.

There's no mutts, though. So I guess that's a plus.

I squint upwards, against the sun, but I can't see anything. No Duke. No Rover. It's a few hundred feet to climb. If Rover did it, so can I. He also wasn't soaked to the bone and freezing, but that shouldn't matter when we're talking about me versus him.

I just need to start climbing.

I swim my way over to the side of the ship, shoving broken chairs out of my way, and reach for the nearest railing. It's the same side Rover climbed up, which means it's more than do-able. I get the best grip I can on it with my numb fingers and haul myself up and out of the water. I crouch there for a long moment, looping my arms through the railings, and rest my forehead against it.

I'm okay. I'm really okay. I feel like everything inside me just got completely rattled, but it could've been worse. At least I'm alive.

 _Boom._

I take a deep breath. I just don't know if Duke is.

He should have survived. Obviously. But I've long learned not to take things for how they appear. Rover could have killed Duke. There's nothing to suggest he couldn't have, even if it was just a stroke of luck. And if he did, I need to prepare myself for that. I just don't know how. This is probably why the best Careers know not to get attached. It's ten times harder to keep going after you are.

I probably look pathetic, crouched down and shaking, clinging to the railings like I'm a drowned rat. My hands really are numb, the barest brush of wind hurts my face and water is still pouring out of my boots at every moment. When I said it, though, I wasn't lying. I'm still not through. The sea will not be my grave.

I start climbing.

The ship is sinking more rapidly, now, like the water's chasing me upwards. The faster I climb, the more feeling that returns to my hands. My swords are still intact, hanging off my back, by some form of a miracle.

One more foot, one more hand up. Closer to victory, or more heartbreak? I can't tell if the pit in my stomach is just from the general state of things, or because it's trying to warn me. I didn't feel anything, before Kal and Meritt went. There was no warning, no second of eerie silence before the explosion. One second I was standing there, waiting for things to change, and the next I knew all hope of anything changing had been thrown out the window.

I'm almost back to the top, though, so does it really matter? I don't know how long I've been climbing, but it took longer than I would have liked regardless. I still can't see anyone. No Duke to help me back up, and no Rover to see if I'm ascending.

I grab the last section of railing in front of me and pull myself back onto the bow, almost underestimating just how slick with water it still is and slipping right back down. I stay on my hands and knees, breathing hard, trying not to shake. The wetsuit is doing it's job, but it can't save me from the feeling of the water permanently.

I look up, the sun nearly blinding me as it strikes off the metal hull, and there's just so much blood.

It wouldn't make sense to a stranger's eyes, and it barely does to me. The carnage is less than twenty feet away and it just doesn't.

Half a body, the rest hidden from view. A figure, cross-legged and hunched over, just as drenched in blood as the rest of the scene. The only thing that seems to permeate through my brain is that the feeling deep in my gut was right.

Because Duke's dead.

And even with that thought, there's still nothing in my head that will work to explain it.

Rover sits, still as stone, in a mess of blood that's easily more Duke's than his own. If he heard me scramble up behind him, he doesn't show any signs of it. He doesn't turn his head to look me in the eye.

Maybe he can't. It's the same way I keep my eyes focused on the back of his head because I can't look at what's in front of him. If I do, if I really take it all in, I'll break down, and he doesn't deserve that satisfaction.

The only thing he deserves, at this point, is death. But cutting his head off won't help me. Just like killing Duke didn't help him.

He knows that. I know that. And I'll still take him down with me if I have to.

* * *

 **Rover Morgan, 17 years, District Eight Male**

* * *

I hear her, but I don't bother moving.

I can't say I've ever related to a computer in my life, but I feel like that blue screen in the web center before the map popped up. Nothing happening, just blankness, a glow that never ended but never did anything of importance either.

Something was always trying to happen underneath, but nothing ever did. Not unless someone made it.

And there's nothing to make me move.

I listen to the sounds of her rising to her feet, slipping for only a heartbeat before she rises up fully. As long as she has a weapon, she could kill me. There's no nerves bubbling up into my stomach. Oddly enough, I'm not afraid at all.

She lets out a low, bitter laugh. It's nothing like the deranged sound I would expect from a Career whose last remaining ally is lying dead by my feet. It's something like resigned acceptance, like she should've known she would end up here. Maybe not in this exact position, with me just sitting here and waiting for it, but here nonetheless. All of her allies dead, her the last one standing.

Possibly facing her last day on this earth. Not from me, though. The one purpose I thought I had left in this is over, completely finished, and with its drained out everything that was left in me.

It's completely muscle memory, then. She approaches me, with no force, and I put my hand on her arm before she can do anything about it, barely look at her over my shoulder. She stops, feet nearly nudging me in the back, and stares. Stares at the way my fingers lock around her wrist, leaving behind bloody stains. What's left of my fingers, anyway. There's no shock in her eyes. In fact, what's in her eyes is almost exactly what I feel on the inside.

There's no words, for that lack of a feeling. There's no glass half full to find in this scenario. I don't think I can let go, though. She's the last human point of contact I have left, the only thing that's reminding me that I have a heart still working somewhere.

She'll have to pry what's left of my own humanity off her skin.

"You think I won't hesitate to take you down with me?" She asks. She could probably yank me off, but she doesn't want to. Pushing me off the edge, not even getting to watch me drown, that's nothing in comparison to what she's had to witness.

And she doesn't plan on letting me go that easily.

She puts the sword back in its sheath, emptying her free hand. Her feet find the railings, bracing herself on them so she doesn't slip like the first time. She stares down at me, still kneeling in the pool of blood. She moves her foot again and I slide an inch closer to the railing, following her momentum. She locks her other hand on top of my own, and it's in that moment that I realize she really isn't going to let me go.

Her heel backs up off the railing, and she's so close now, so close to falling yet again, but this time it's on her own terms.

This time I'm going to fall with her, and that's exactly what she wants.

I watch like I'm already floating above my own body as she hurls herself back off the railings, and in one swift motion I'm pulled off after her. My feet squeak against the ground, mussing up the blood pooled around us, and then there's nothing left but air.

It's cool and it's nice, and there's no tainted smell of blood surrounding me.

We crash into the water so violently, so suddenly, that I completely forget to hold onto her. I'm surprised when she lets go of me, too easily, and my arms are too busy flailing around in the water, trying to find something. There's already water in my lungs, my mouth struggling to stay closed through the panic. But this is what I deserve.

Her hands lock around my throat, and my eyes are burning too much from the salt to even see, but my windpipe is getting crushed beneath her hands and there's water flooding down my throat and I really can't breathe. There's debris, floating around us, knocking into my legs and my back and my head, and somehow she's fine. Of course she's fine.

The pressure on my throat is building. I don't even know how long we've been under, but it feels long. Too long. Her hands leave my neck, and then I see a knife, slashing down towards my chest, just to make sure. She's not taking any chances. A milky cloud of blood drifts though the darkened water in front of me, the water taking over my chest and the last thing I see is her legs, kicking away from me. The knife falls past me, disappearing towards the bottom of the ocean. Not like I would try to grab it anyway.

She needs air. That's why she finally gave up. I don't have any left. I can't get to the surface and I'm not drowning fast enough and everything inside me feels like a bomb, ready to explode.

It's so dark, this far down. It's like there's nothing for miles. Nothing to affect me, nothing to tell me how wrong I am, how unnatural. Nothing that will hurt me, ever again.

It's not so bad.

* * *

 **Sinora Floyd, 16 years, District Eleven Female**

* * *

I watched both of them fall.

I could've climbed up in an attempt to meet them, but there was no point. Exhausting myself when they were doomed to fall wasn't going to help. My hands are still blistered and red from sticking them straight through the fire and I can barely hold onto my scythe as is. No point in climbing like that.

They fell, tangled, into the water maybe twenty feet away. I'm mere inches away from the water myself, standing on the last wall I can possibly stand on to keep myself away from it. It's a good vantage point to watch. As long as we don't start sinking faster, I'm not in any danger.

Metaphorically. I'm in a lot of danger, just hopefully not from the water.

I know it's awful, but I want it to be Rover that pops his head out of that water. He'll be easier to beat. I've never seen the Two girl do any damage; there's nothing to suggest what she's capable of, and I really don't want to find out.

The likelihood of it being Rover that survives this altercation isn't a strong one, but I can hope anyway. What I really want to hope for is that they both drown, or hurt each other bad enough while they're under that they don't re-surface. It's about as wishful thinking as me believing in yet another failed alliance. It would be too easy for me, if both of them died like that.

I don't think they plan on going easy on me now, after everything.

I adjust my grip on the scythe and take a deep breath. My hands burn no matter how I hold it. The knife and sickle I still have aren't even a factor right now.

A loud _boom_ echoes throughout the arena, and it's only a few seconds later when the Two girl surfaces, gasping for breath.

Of course.

Because I can't just have this _one thing_.

She paddles frantically for a moment, head whipping side to side, before she sees me. There's not much else to see. She treads water, just looking. If she swims over to the platform I'm standing on, there's no way for her to hurt me before I hurt her. Unless she plans on climbing away from me, back up, there's really nowhere near me for her to go. Instead she swims a little bit to the right and hauls herself on-top of one of the obnoxiously orange capsule lifeboats bobbing not far from me. It continues rocking back and forth in the waves as she pulls herself up, one knee braced against the top, hands locked white-knuckled around the ridges of it.

She smiles grimly. "Just you and me, huh? Probably should've killed you in the Feast."

"Probably," I agree. So much would have been different, if she hadn't ran. She most likely would have killed me. Larz still would have died. It could be Kole here, right now, instead of me.

Water laps against my boots, soaking into the laces, and I realize I'm still sinking. Just barely, but it's enough. Enough to tell me that if this doesn't end soon I'll be too far in the water to save myself. And I wasn't lying when I said I was so tired that I just wanted it to end.

It's just her left. She swings a leg over the lifeboat and sits down on the top of it, exhaling. Like she needs a break. Her hair is plastered all over her face and she's shivering. I don't know if I'm imagining it, but her lips already look a little blue. Her right hand drifts down by her side until the blade of her sword is almost fully in the water, like she can't be bothered to hold it up for the time being.

I wish I could do the same. Everything would feel a bit lighter, if I could put my weapon down.

"How many?" She asks, and it's not right that I know what she's asking about. Kill count. Because of course that matters right now.

"Three."

"Only one less than me. That's not too bad." She stares at the spot where Rover no doubt drowned. There's a little bit of blood in the water, but not enough to kill him by any stretch of the imagination. She had the same number of kills as me, up until a few minutes ago.

"You would've made a good Career," she continues, and the worst part is, she means it. Maybe that was the world I should have grown up in. I wouldn't have been dragging my feet through the dirt to survive, to feed my family. Maybe I would've been exactly like her, volunteering for a chance at glory. Looking at her now, though, I don't see that. Maybe it was never for the glory.

"Better than you?"

"Better than me."

And I know she means it, deep down, but I just can't handle this, this small-talk. It feels too unnatural, too wrong. One of us is going to be dead soon, and we're talking like nothing's wrong. Like nothing's happened to either of us.

"I can't— can we just finish this," I practically plead. I just want to go home, and I thought I hated it there. But I want it back now.

"If you want."

I look up at her, really look, and realize just how close she's gotten. Her blade's still in the water, the waves urging the lifeboat forward just the slightest, and that was the whole point of the damn small talk. She's been waiting, buying time, until she was closer.

She is now.

The sword leaves the water and comes flying towards my head before I can realize the implications of just how close she's gotten. There's nowhere to run to. I've got maybe ten square feet of space left, and half of it is getting overtaken by the water already. I throw myself down anyway, because the lifeboat's close enough to jump. The sword she threw buries itself in the wooden deck of the ship where my head was, and she throws herself after it, landing in my own little space just on top of my legs. The lifeboat is practically close enough to touch. How the hell did I not realize?

I kick her in the face before she can right herself and slide away until I can struggle back to my feet.

I can't move. A step backwards and I fall into the water, a step forwards and I impale myself on her swords. She pulls herself to her feet and regains the second one, pulling it out of the floor, brandishing them both towards me.

The scythe is longer, but she's got one more sword than I've got usable weapons. My hands are trembling under it's weight.

It's going to take one move from each of us, and the other is dead. That's how close we are. And the worst part is, I'm terrified where she doesn't look scared at all. The fear is keeping me alive, just enough on my toes to react, and she's trained not to feel it. Maybe it's the only part of her training she still really remembers.

Whether she believed it or not, it's untrue. I'd never be better than her, in any universe.

Two swords. One clear shot, at her chest with the scythe, and if I miss she kills me.

I can't miss. Just to prove Phil wrong. To see Sabrine again. My parents, too. Even if they hate me after this, I can't miss. For once in my life, I have to change the outcome of something on my own.

I yell, and it's filled with desperation and panic and dread, lunging forward, and then she ducks.

She ducks. And my scythe swings through the empty air where her heart should be, and I see it happening even before it does.

She ducks, directly under my weapon, and plunges a single sword into my chest.

The scythe goes tumbling out of my grip, splashing into the water and disappearing. Her face is an inch from mine, both hands locked around the hilt of the sword. Straight through my chest, just past my heart, out the back. I can feel every part of it, tearing me apart from the inside. The worst part is, she isn't even looking at me in the eyes. Not to apologize, not to watch it happen. She stares, hardened, over my shoulder, and then closes her eyes like she wants it to be over too.

She's no Career. Not even close.

When she yanks the sword out I'm half-gone already. I land in a limp pile at her feet, like someone pulled the plug on the faucet and everything's coming flooding out. Where she was looking up, over my shoulder, I see nothing. The sky doesn't even look real, and neither does she.

My whole life for this. Fighting so hard, ruining myself, for this nothingness.

My whole life, and I changed nothing.

But maybe she will.

It's not enough, but it's the last thought I have.

* * *

Man, this sucked.

You know what idc anymore scroll down and read this you're gonna anyway!

This girl was my victor from the beginning. It never changed. No one else ever held the spot. And regardless of what other people felt about who the victor should be, I knew deep down that I could never change it. Sinora deserved it, but so did a lot of other people. As much as she did deserve it there was a part of me that just couldn't do it, in the end. I loved her like she was my own (she is now Ans sorry ps I love you don't kill me), just like a lot of them were. And really, I loved them all. Yes, even Rover. To be fair he had it coming. Still hurt though, after all this time.

I will never stop appreciating what I got for this story. There were so many good ones and so many stories that I was so excited to write. There's still two more chapters though. The epilogue format will be quite different from the first time around, but there are still two. Because I like torturing myself.

Just to make this longer, guess who's not updating next week? Both because she's going to be away and because she's too lazy to finish the first epilogue? This girl right here.

No one hate me.

Until next time.


	38. The End Is Not Near

Aftermath, Part One.

* * *

 **Seren Dobrana, 18 years, District Two Female**  
 **Victor of the 155th Hunger Games**

* * *

It's so quiet.

I never realized how awful it was, until now.

The only sound is a sharp, rhythmic beeping somewhere off to my right. Judging by the sharp pressure currently holding my wrist down, it's making sure I'm still alive.

Because I won. Right. Even though the details of most of it are fuzzy, I at least know I won. My heart seems to be working just fine, but alive doesn't even seem to be the most fitting word. I was barely injured. All they had to do was straighten my nose back, fix the slice on my arm, fade away the bruises. In comparison, I'm more alive than most people that get out.

A hand touches my arm, just gently enough to register. "Hey, kid."

That's Ashlar, not Cicely, and it's not all that surprising. It still feels like there's more than one person in the room. Apparently that's a skill I've picked up that I didn't even know about. I crack open my eyes, looking in his direction, and he smiles. Sure enough, Cicely is perched on a stool just next to the closed door, gnawing on her nails. She looks up towards me, raises an eyebrow, and then resumes the task. She couldn't look more out of place, sitting awkwardly, looking at everything around her with a vague disinterest. And I'm included in that.

"How you feeling?" Ashlar questions, trying to smile despite the awkwardness.

"Good. I think," I decide. I feel fine physically. There was nothing that was really endangering me anyway. Being warm, content, it's better than what I was a few hours ago. Or days. It's too easy to remember the numbness in my fingers and the chattering of my teeth. All the blood.

"So no need to get the doctor?"

"No. Promise."

Ashlar looks satisfied enough with that, but Cicely looks up at me, eyes narrowed. I should've prepared myself for this storm. She didn't like me before, and she probably doesn't now. Hell, it's probably worse now. Before I can even open my mouth she cuts me off.

"Interview is in fourteen hours. You should get moving." All business with her. As expected.

"I gave you more than two minutes after you woke up," Ashlar says evenly. "Common courtesy here would be appreciated."

"We don't have _time_ for common courtesy," she growls. "You've seen the mess this has become. It's up to her to fix it."

"Fix what?"

I watch the two of them stare at each other, but Cicely always wins. It's a well-known fact. Ashlar doesn't falter under her gaze, matching it evenly, but she'll still act like it was never a question. She comes out on top or no one does.

"That organization that Trevall was a part of," Cicely starts. "President Gardell ordered it destroyed a few hours ago on live television. They're sending their best Peacekeeper team out there to kill them all, bomb it, whatever. They're probably almost there by now."

"And why is that my problem?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. Maybe I'm being more selfish than I usually would be, but I have enough to deal with. After everything I'm still expected to be able to deal with more.

"We think," Ashlar explains. "That they're going to try and pin the whole thing on Two. Or at least involve us in some way. The Capitol wants to come out of this with as little blood on their hands as possible, and if that means throwing us under the bus. We need—"

"We need you to act like nothing's wrong. To act perfect, like the Career you aren't but have to be," Cicely interrupts, glaring like she has all the right in the world.

That's it. Screw trying to be calm. Every time Cicely opens her mouth it makes my anger rise just the slightest bit more. It's just the cherry on top of the rather frustrating sundae I've been dealing with these past few days, and I can't handle it anymore.

"If you have things you want to say just get it over with," I tell her. " I know you want to. Go ahead."

Cicely leans forward, smiling like a teenager that just got approval from her parents to go to a party. I can't decide if she looks more terrifying or excited. Both at the same time is a weird combination that reminds me of Alana, and that's not a pleasant thing to reminisce about.

"I picked someone who should have been here instead of you. Oriana trained for years, ten times harder than you ever did, and yet here you are. In her place, while she sits at home robbed of an opportunity that you stole. And better yet, these Games have turned out to be the messiest in recent years, all because of one move on your part."

I know what she means. And maybe Cicely's right about one thing. If I had let the Career pack be, let it form as it should have, maybe none of this would have happened. I wouldn't be sitting here if I had let that happen, though. And neither would Oriana. To be kind of frank, she was an asshole. Everyone in the training center knew that.

Cicely has to project her anger onto someone. I get that. But it doesn't mean I have to take it.

"I'm not here because of you. Everything I did in there I did myself. Fuck yourself, Cicely. I don't owe you anything, least of all a good attitude."

Straight. Simple. To the point. Not even close to eloquent.

Cicely stares. I stare back. Ashlar looks between us, braced for the bomb to go off.

As if it hasn't already.

I watch as Cicely leaves her perch in silence, head held high as she walks out the door like I didn't just scrape away some of her dignity with my bare hands. We all know I did. The day will never come when she admits it, though. Wringing my hands in my lap, I squeeze my eyes shut just before Ashlar whistles, low and more than a little amused. He puts a hand back on my arm, but it's still gentle.

"About time someone said it."

"I mean, she did kinda help me," I admit, eyes still closed. "With the suit and all. Probably would have frozen to death without it."

"She didn't send that. I did. She kicked her feet up five minutes in and gave up."

I don't know why I'm even surprised, but it still feels like a kick to the gut. She never cared, and I shouldn't have expected her to. But she'll still get credit for it. She'll still speak to reporters like it was all her and that will never change.

And I'm going to cry again. I can already feel it happening. My emotions have been screwed with so badly I don't know which way is up.

"How long has it been?" I whisper, and he gets it. Maybe every victor does.

"Eleven hours."

Eleven hours. Less than half a day since I got out of the arena. Maybe twelve since Duke died. A full day, if I'm lucky, since we lost Kal and Meritt.

Somehow everyone's expecting me to be able to deal with that.

"If you're gonna cry, you can get it out now," Ashlar says softly. "As much as I hate to admit it, Cicely's right. Screw acting like a typical Career, because nobody's going to fall for that. Just stayed calm, collected. Don't let anything faze you."

The first tears spill out from my closed eyes, no matter how hard I try to keep them from falling. It's like the exact opposite of his words has happened. My throat's closing up and it feels like my lungs are being flooded with water, even though I made it out.

"I made it out," I repeat out-loud, my voice cracking. It doesn't help. I made it out but they didn't. So what's the point in telling myself that? It just makes it hurt more.

"Yeah, you did."

Ashlar takes my hand, squeezing tight, and thankfully doesn't voice concerns about how bad I'm shaking. There's no way Cicely acted like this, when she got out, but he's not letting it faze him.

I might have to do an interview tonight. I might have to be something I'm not.

These next few hours are mine, though.

I'm going to do with them what I damn well please, even if that does mean crying.

* * *

Ashlar finally leaves me to my thoughts, probably hell-bent on finding Cicely to make sure she's not breaking something or finding some poor innocent person to punch.

It wouldn't surprise me if she already had. I didn't think telling him that would help.

The minutes tick by into almost another hour before a nurse comes in. An hour of just stewing in my own thoughts, which are so jumbled there's barely anything discernible. It's easier to try and pull them all apart when no one's watching me, though. For all Ashlar wants to do he can't help me fight my own head.

When the nurse comes in she doesn't introduce herself. All I have to go by is the sunny smile she keeps tacked on her face, like she'd rather be nowhere than here. Her hair is a mish-mash of orange and red and yellow, almost like that last sunrise in the arena. Here I am, comparing a lady's hair to something I'd rather not remember. And I wanted to give myself credit for being emotionally intact.

I watch as she takes the IV out of my arm, unhooking me from the various machines lining my bedside. I don't know if she's avoiding talking because she doesn't think I want to or because she thinks it'll freak me out more.

Really, I don't even know. It's probably a good thing she's not talking all that much.

She looks about to leave when she produces a neatly folded pile of clothes, placing them at the end of the bed.

"Need any help with this?"

I stare at her, arms wrapped around my drawn-up knees, and try to wonder what the hell she's thinking. Is she just offering out of courtesy? How many times has she done this? Better yet, how many people take the offer? I may not be in the greatest of conditions, but that still doesn't mean I want her help.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm more bitter than I thought.

"I'm good," I inform her. She smiles again, nodding, and heads for the door. Maybe she's used to that answer, too.

"Thanks, though," I try, trying not to grimace at my own awkwardness. It's not like she did anything to me personally. It's just her job, and I should really get over it.

She nods. "There's a Peacekeeper waiting outside to take you back to your floor when you're ready."

She leaves after that, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

I can only stare at the clothes at the end of the bed for so long.

It doesn't take me long to change out of the flimsy gown into the sweater and sweatpants she left behind, and even though the floor is freezing against my bare feet it at least reminds me that my toes are still there. When I first got on the hovercraft I was so numb I was convinced I would wake up with less fingers and toes than originally planned.

Even though I could probably spend another hour in the room I peek my head out the door, staring at the Peacekeeper waiting outside. Whoever they are, they do nothing but gesture down the hall. Probably in the direction I'm supposed to go.

I can't even be trusted to get upstairs by myself. Why I'm surprised, I have no idea. And I guess I have no choice but to listen. Wherever we are, it's nowhere I've been. All I recognize on this floor is the area where the prep teams first took us, but the hallways are all a mystery. Every time I check over my shoulder the Peacekeeper is still just as close as they were before, slowing down whenever I do.

The Peacekeeper finds an elevator quicker than I ever would, waits for me to get in first, and takes the courtesy of pressing the button for the second floor, while I stare at them the entire time. I really can't even tell what they look like. For all I know they're staring back at me the same way.

"Come here often?" I ask them, getting absolutely nothing in response but the same cold stone silence. I knew my humour took a massive blow, but even I didn't think it was that bad. It could just be my red and puffy face convincing them that I'm really not all that funny right now. Lord only knows I don't feel it.

The elevator dings and I escape onto the second floor before they can make me. There's no more presence at the back of my shoulder afterwards though, and when I turn back to the closing elevator the Peacekeeper is still in it.

So I guess I'm alone. Again.

And really, alone might actually be best for me right now.

There's no one up here. Not even Cicely or Ashlar are making enough noise, if they are around, to be a nuisance. I stand outside the elevator for a long time, wrapping my arms around myself and exhaling. The floor still looks the same. The table where we ate dinner every night still sits in the middle of the room, empty.

This magnificent, wide world I imagined after getting out isn't there. Nothing's changed at all.

For some reason, I expected it to look so different. So full of possibilities. I guess that was just what I wanted to believe all along; some sort of delusional fantasy that I had convinced myself of when in fact there was never such an option. Why would anything have changed, just because I thought it would?

I take time to look around, to poke through things that I already poked through my first day here, Meritt off alone in his room. I had tried dragging him around, at first, but it had only succeeded in small bits. It wasn't until that day at the chariots that he really followed me for the first time, and after that it just continued. I never really expected that breakthrough to happen.

His room is empty.

I don't know why I expected it to be anything else.

* * *

The world's a whole lot easier to ignore when you pull the covers over your head and close your eyes.

It's easy to imagine that there's nothing out there. But after an hour I hear the chime of the elevator again, Cicely's voice rising above the quietness of the floor. Her footsteps go thundering past my closed doorway. Retreating into her own room. I'm convinced on some level that I'll be left alone. Five minutes later there's a knock on the door. I know there's no point in answering. If it's the escort whose name I can't even be bothered to conjure up, she'll just barge in here anyway.

It's not, though.

"You still alive in here?"

Ashlar. Again. There's the soft sound of the door scraping over the floor so I stick my arm out of the blankets and give him a thumbs up. He chuckles quietly, and then the edge of the bed dips under his weight.

"You want to spend the next few hours under there or come and do something?"

"Do I have a choice?"

" _Yes_ ," he insists. "Why do you think I came in here? If Cicely had she would have grabbed you by the ankles, blankets and all, and pulled you outside."

I pull the blankets down to the bottom of my nose and peer at him. He's sitting there, calm as ever. And I know he'd leave me alone, if I asked, but what's the point? If I do sit in here until I have to get ready for the interviews, I'm just going to spend the next few hours hating myself. Or everyone else in here. Considering how nice Ashlar is being, I don't think I should.

Grumbling, I kick the blankets off, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Ashlar looks no short of amused.

"Don't say anything," I mutter. I know I don't look great. My hair, in the reflection of the mirror, doesn't look so great either. I brush my fingers through it half-heartedly, but it doesn't do the amount of good I was hoping for.

"Wasn't planning on it."

He gives me a moment to collect myself, at least, before he takes me back outside. It's a good thing, too, because the last thing I expected was to see more people sitting in the common area. Valiant is sitting perched on the edge of the couch, Costa and Theo from Four perched on the arm of the couch next to him. I come to a halt so fast Ashlar nearly stumbles into my back.

"There she is!" Costa crows, practically leaping to her feet. "Good for a hug?"

I blink in surprise, nodding dumbly. It's a little awkward, when she steps forward and wraps her arms around me, but still gentle. And she _asked_ , of all things, before she even got close. It doesn't make any sense. I killed Elias, put a knife in his heart when there was no other option. Meritt took Lynn out in a matter of seconds, giving none of us any chance to react.

Costa steps back. "I see those gears turning. Don't worry about it, I'm serious. You kill who you have to kill. We've all done it."

"Shit happens," Theo agrees, and after that it's easier to accept the comfort after that. To accept the arm he wraps around my shoulders, squeezing briefly before he takes back his place on the couch.

I can't help but see the hurt in Valiant's eyes though, when he embraces me. There's no more Galore siblings to lose, after this.

"Thank you for taking care of him," he says quietly, and I nod into his shoulder. It was never my best, but I did what I could in the time I had. It wasn't enough, either, judging by the outcome, but I have to live with that. With what I did do, in that short amount of time. Cared about them, watched their backs whenever they were ahead of me.

"I tried to get Ivory to come up here," Valiant begins, looking over my shoulder to Ashlar. "But you know how she is."

"What, still bitter and petty as all hell?" Theo asks. Costa grins.

I find myself smiling too.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then," I manage. I can think of everyone, of my friends, of the people I killed, but when I think of Cerise I don't feel bad. Maybe I would have, if it had happened further down the line. But in that moment, it didn't affect me at all. It still doesn't. It's a blessing, feeling nothing in the storm of emotions that have been threatening to engulf me since I woke up.

Costa lets out a barely concealed cackle.

"You want a drink?" Valiant asks me. I'm still smiling, and it doesn't feel entirely wrong.

So that's how it ends up. The group of us sitting on the couch, drinks in hand. Talking about the things distract us from the hell we're currently in. Others join us, eventually. The Sixes and the Twelves. Sciel from Three and Kellen from Ten, together, settling in amongst the conversation with little to no effort. Cicely stays in her room.

Crux from Nine is the last one to come upstairs. He sits next to me, just for a moment, before he gets up to get himself a drink. It's brief, but he presses his shoulder into mine. Says nothing, for a long moment. He's only a year older than me, won last year, and maybe that's why it makes so much sense. He felt it the most recently, what I'm going through right now.

"It gets easier," he says. "You may not believe it now, but you'll accept it one day."

I nod, a grateful smile blooming across my face. When he comes back with his drink he elbows his way onto the couch next to Kellen, laughter breaking out across the room when the two of them nearly go toppling onto the floor.

It doesn't take me long to notice that the Eights and the Elevens never show up. Valiant made an effort to get everyone onto this floor, but not everyone accepted. It's not hard to see why. It's even easier to tell that this isn't how it usually is. It's usually _all_ of them, no matter the circumstance, but there's still anger brewing underneath the surface, and so they stay away.

This is a family. It breaks and comes back together every year.

Next year will be different.

And maybe, like Crux said, it will be easier.

* * *

"Are you excited?"

"Oh totally," I say, voice deadpan. Cadmus turns his narrowed eyes on me, now an alarming shade of purple. They were green before the games.

"What did I say about the sarcasm?"

I shrug. He shakes his head, but he's smiling almost fondly. Him and the rest of the prep team have been surprisingly kind. They even let me sit an extra hour with the rest of the victors before Costa took me downstairs. She even sat with me for a few minutes, talking quietly, before the prep team shooed her back into the hallway. They've been gentle, though, since she left. Completely unlike how they were at the beginning, all business. Ovid takes his time sweeping my hair back, and Ismene is soft as she tilts my head back and forth, hands gentle against my jaw.

The dress, when Livia brings it in, is the same shade of dark red that my jacket was. Planned, clearly, and she notices my hesitation. It's the first time I've seen her since I got down here, and she gives me a quick, one-armed hug before she steps back.

"You know you can do anything, right?" She asks me. I swallow, and feel the golden flecks they've painted next to my eyes pull at my skin.

"If you think so."

"I know so," she insists. "You did it, but we all watched. And believe me. After that, you can."

I nod, but I know she's not convinced. Ovid pats my shoulder, something clearly meant to be reassuring, but I only feel the nerves in my stomach twist up more. Every single emotion about to come up at once.

"This will probably make you cry anyway, but I'm still gonna say it," Livia says. She puts her hands on my shoulders, leaning in close. "Would any of those boys want you to be crying over them right now?"

Well, at least I knew it was coming. I feel the tears build up almost instantly, and blink frantically. No need to ruin all of their hard work on top of everything else. Her hands tightens against my shoulders almost to the point of pain, but it's grounding. Something to focus on other than all the misery. The thing is, I already did cry over them. After Kal and Meritt. This morning, for Duke, because I didn't have a chance to before.

It's time to stop crying.

"Obviously you knew them a lot better than me. But I'll be damned if that Six boy isn't about to come down here and kick your ass for sniveling about him. Which is exactly what you need to do. That's what they'd want. Show them what you've still got."

I let out a choked laugh, still trying to push the tears back. The image is all too clear in my head. That is something Kal would do, then or now. Let me get it out, and then tell me to kick ass anyway. That's what they'd all do.

"Think I can manage that. Did enough of that the past few days anyway. Might as well keep the streak going."

Livia grins. "That's my girl."

* * *

The thing is, I didn't prepare myself to see the recap.

Walking on-stage, in comparison, is the easy part. The dress is sweeping around my feet, the gold rings and bracelets heavy around my hands. I look regal, like one of those queens in all the perfect stories you'd read when you were little.

I'd be surprised if any of those queens ever felt this way on the inside.

Edolie takes my hand, raises my arm to the crowd. The cheers are there, but there's an underlying uneasiness. I can't help but notice that some of the officials in the crowd keep glancing towards the President, eyes concerned. She sits high on her impenetrable balcony, back straight, eyes steely.

Head Gamemaker Mervaine winks at me.

Asshole.

I remember what Cicely said this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.

 _Act like nothing's wrong._

I have the power to fix this, right now. And I'll be damned if I'm not at least going to try.

It starts with the basics. With Edolie asking me how I'm doing after everything that happened, how my day has been since I woke up. The crowd is quiet, for the most part. Some are bigger fans than others. I wish that this conversation was the extent of it, that after this I could go back to the second floor. Get on the train tomorrow and just go home, like I've wanted to since I woke up.

The room goes dark anyway, the screen lights up.

Nothing I could say to myself would make it easier.

The bloodbath is no surprise. I was there to see it all. Elias' knife in the Twelve boy's throat, his body plummeting into the water. What we didn't see from the ship was the creatures that dragged him under as soon as he landed. Alana's hands wrap around the Ten boy's throat, squeezing so hard her knuckles go white, and then he's dead. After that it's Duke saving my life, helping me kill Cerise, Lynn's spear in her own stomach with Meritt holding onto the other end.

All the while Kal stands there, half-terrified and half-confused.

The Nine boy snaps the Twelve girls neck against a metal railing, not even realizing until seconds later. Larkin slits the Three girls throat, a move that surprises even me. I never knew Larkin had that amount of capability in her. Erna puts a sword through her own allies face not long after. Some in the crowd shriek and moan, clearly sick at the action like they haven't already seen it a hundred times over.

All the while I watch us. How close we were, how we moved as one unit after only days of knowing each other. At the easy smiles, the laughter in the dead of night. At the way we clung to each other when the mutts first came out.

The mutts take the Seven girl after her allies let her go off the balcony. I watch as Alana rips Elias apart in the hallway, her tomahawks nearly smashing the cameras to pieces. Larkin finds him and Duke sits with him and I kill him. That's how the story goes, so simple. It never felt that simple in there.

Watching us split is almost the hardest part. It hits me, all of a sudden, that that was the last time I ever saw Meritt.

Tears well up in my eyes. The burn is already familiar.

I never knew that Sinora killed both her allies. But she kills Kinnon and there's no remorse in her eyes. The Three boy seems to share the sentiment, his own ally lying on the ground, choking on his own blood and the ruined hole in his throat.

Meritt and Duke kill Erna, but fail to kill Rover. I see myself the first cracks in Meritt's eyes, the ones that were just waiting to split open the whole time we were there. It feels like I never knew him, seeing his eyes just then. And maybe I never did. The cheers that erupt when Kal and I take on Alana, when he shoots her in the back, when I take her head off in one swipe, echo around the stadium. Even Edolie turns to me with a charming smile. Praise, clearly. I put on a good show, during that fight. They share none of the same sentiment for Meritt, who they must hate now. And just like I knew all along, he puts a knife in Larkin's spine and rips her throat open like a well-oiled machine.

It's a good thing I fled the feast. The Nine boy falls first, because the Five girl doesn't need two arms to slit his throat, and then the innocent little Seven boy nearly splits Three's neck in two with the force of his axe.

I know it's coming. I squeeze my eyes shut, briefly. Get rid of the tears. They're just going to come back.

It's like finding Kal all over again, seeing him tied up in the bottom of the ship. But I get to see what we didn't; Meritt returning and freeing him. Making the decision to live, before Kal accidentally kills them both. Meritt only took him in the first place because he was terrified out of his mind, and he still was, but he was willing to try. To be whole again, with our help.

It takes Edolie reaching over and squeezing my hand to realize that I am indeed actually crying. No one seems put off by it, though. That might be the most surprising.

Everything after that is just the motions. The Five girl, and the Seven boy. They both made it so much further than I thought they would. Probably deserved it, after everything, a hell of a lot more than I even still do.

I don't watch when Rover caves Duke's head in. My eyes stay firmly on my lap, Edolie's hand still in mine. They can make me sit here but they can't make me look. I saw it once and if I never see it again, it'll still be too soon.

Rover sinks into the depths as I break the surface, and Sinora is there waiting. We both look so _tired_. One moment of weakness, and it was all over. There's a level of horror in Sinora's eyes that I didn't let myself watch, in the moment. I couldn't look at her dying then, and it's still hard now. The crowd is happy, watching me standing there silhouetted by the sun, swords still in hand, but it feels like I'm the one with the hole in my chest.

The lights flicker back on. I take a deep, shaky breath.

"Quite a journey you went through, Seren," Edolie smiles. She let's go of my hand and pats my arm, instead. "What was going through your mind?"

I pause. "This whole time ... I just wanted something more. I didn't expect to find it in that arena. I didn't expect to find people I would care about so much. I thought everything important would come after I won. I was wrong."

"So they were important to you? Your allies."

"You saw it for yourself, but yes. More than I thought possible." I can't say the word love out-loud, not like I want to. That's not a word anyone wants to hear right now, certainly not me.

"And what's changed now that you _are_ here with us?" Edolie asks.

"Not as much as I thought. I certainly didn't expect to come back to all of _this_." Everyone knows what _this_ is. The words are unspoken, but known all the same. "I just hope that we can all absorb what has happened and move on. Mistakes were made, by many people. Things we never expected to see. But I know where my loyalty lies, and so does the rest of my District."

From the wings, Ashlar gives me a thumbs up. Cicely doesn't do much of anything, but she also isn't scowling, which I consider a vast improvement. Edolie beams, and quickly ushers me to my feet. An appropriate ending, then. The crowd claps, smiling as well, clearly put at ease. The President's expression hasn't changed much, but she gets to her feet like the rest of them, joining in.

Mission far from accomplished, but it's a start.

I just wish any of what I said was true.

I don't know if there's a place left for my loyalty to lie.

* * *

"I'll be in the back room if you need anything."

Livia pauses by the door, eyebrows raised, and I nod. She escapes to her back room, clearly needing an amount of solitude after the night. She helped me change back into something more comfortable, unwound my hair and scrubbed the make-up from my face.

Now I stand alone in the hallway by the stage, the lights off, arms wrapped around myself. Maybe that time was for herself, but she knows I need it too.

I could go back upstairs. But upstairs means more smiles and I don't think I'm up to it anymore. I let myself slide to the floor, leaning back against the wall, sighing. Just like earlier, it's easy when I can't see anything. When my eyes are closed, and I can just pretend nothing ever happened. My heart's still pounding too fast, an uncomfortable weight in my chest.

It's not over. I don't know if it will ever be over. But at least I get to go home.

"You know, someone's probably gonna step on you if you stay back here for much longer."

I flinch, glancing down the hallway, and Kiero Mearlove is standing there, hands shoved into his pockets.

Perfect.

I look away and focus on staring down the wall in front of me. It's also easier when I can't see _him_. Or anyone, really. Despite my lack of response, he stays standing, glancing around the dark hallway.

"I'm sorry," I force out after a long moment, hating the way my voice shakes. It's probably a good thing the Elevens didn't show up earlier. Him either. That would have just led to a breakdown in front of everyone, which I don't need added to my plate right now.

"What for?"

"You know what for," I insist. "Please don't make me say it."

Do I actually feel bad for Rover? In the moment, I didn't. In the moment all I wanted was for him to be dead. Because that's what I thought he _deserved_. He killed someone I thought I loved and that's what he should have deserved.

"If every one of us apologized for every single thing we did in there," he says. "We'd never leave this damn place. You shouldn't be sorry."

"I killed your tribute and you don't think I should be sorry?"

"I spent so long trying to convince Rover that life was worth living. And for a while there, I think it almost worked. But towards the end ... I don't want you to feel bad. The guilt will eat you alive. You shouldn't feel bad for someone who was better off dead in the long run."

I blink, surprised. "Didn't expect to hear that coming out of your mouth."

"It's the truth. The hard truth. One that I'm still learning. But if he wanted to survive, he would have fought back. If he had, and he had won, I'd have walked into his house a month later to find him dead anyway."

I fiddle with my hands while he stares at me. He hasn't moved from his initial spot, half cast in shadow. I can hardly even see him. His voice is oddly calm, though, a certainly I didn't expect him to have in such a place. And maybe he's right. Maybe Rover was better off dead. After everything he went through, it's hardly surprising.

"I think it's better that you survived than him," he says. "Because you want to live."

He's right. I do want to live. More than anything. I want to push all this away and take back the world instead of letting it crush me. Right now, that just seems impossible. There's too much weighing down on my shoulders, and I can't hold it up on my own. Even with my family, even with the other victors, I don't know how I'm expected to shoulder what's happened.

"Come on," he says, jerking his head back. No explanation, and I'm too tired to argue.

I get to my feet and follow him.

The location turns out to be the eighth floor. Mia Calison is sitting back in an arm chair, staring at the television. When she sees me she doesn't look surprised; she hardly spends a second glancing at the elevator when we step out. All she does is grab me a drink similar to her own and put it on the table, wordlessly. She herself looks tired, but she still manages to smirk at my hesitance, nodding towards the couch. I expect it to be awkward, when I draw my feet underneath me, but it's not. Kiero sits down at the other end and Mia throws a pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.

They hardly talk. There's not really anything to say. They just sit in a silence that for once, I don't actually hate. The television hums quietly in the background, and eventually Mia excuses herself to go to sleep. Kiero falls asleep at the other end of the couch less than an hour later, and I slump down myself.

I fall asleep eventually. It's not quick, and not easy, but at least it happens.

Like I said, it's a start.

* * *

I'm woken up in the morning to someone stomping across the room.

"Wake the fuck up," Cicely growls. I jerk into a sitting position. Kiero's still out cold. Mia is standing on the other side of the room, coffee half-risen to her mouth, looking perpetually annoyed. There's a blanket draped across my lap, and I catch it before it can slide off the couch.

"Morning to you too," Mia grumbles, taking a sip. "Christ."

Cicely snatches the remote off the table and flicks the television on. Mia must have turned it off some time in the night. What I didn't notice was Ashlar, lurking behind Cicely. He looks worried, a heavy crease drawn between his eyebrows.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

" _This_ is what's wrong," Cicely informs me, instead of letting him answer. She switches the channel to something news-related, and instantly there are flashing red emergency banners darting across the screen. All I can see is the streets of the Capitol in absolute chaos, people running back and forth. Terrified screaming. Someone no doubt getting this view from a hovercraft.

"What the hell?" I ask this time, because it sounds more appropriate. Mia narrows her eyes over the brim of her coffee cup, and reaches over to fling another pillow at Kiero, who wakes with a start. He glances around frantically, only getting more confused when he catches sight of Cicely standing in the middle of the living room, pointing angrily at the television.

The camera view switches. This time it's on a person, fuzzy at first from distance, but the angle switches. All of a sudden I can see the person with perfect clarity, and my heart nearly stops.

"Is that—"

"Oh, shit," Mia says.

There are bodies in the street. People screaming, running for their lives. More than one gun, on this person. Who I recognize but don't at the same time.

"Big brother Arker is back," Cicely hisses. "And I think he's a little pissed off."

 _Your brother's alive._

That's what Meritt said in the recap, just before they both died. And I didn't know what to think, then. Everything else was so overwhelming it was hard to focus on that one thing. I'd nearly forgotten about it, but right now it's here in front of me. Undeniable proof.

He looks just like Kal.

"Oh fuck," Kiero mutters. He's awake now, apparently, and I agree with the sentiment.

Oh fuck, indeed.

* * *

I can't believe I'm resurrecting the Surprise Bitch meme in the year 2017.

In all seriousness, if you want an actual explanation, you can check my profile. Also I love you guys.

Until Next Time (and there will be one, promise).


	39. It's Here

Aftermath, Part Two.

* * *

 **Cambria Mervaine, 34 years, Former Master of Cermonies**

* * *

She never thought this place could turn into such a mess.

Safety was a thing of luxury, it seemed. Even here they weren't safe. All she'd heard of a news broadcast was that someone, someone who looked a little bit too much like Kal Arker for it to be anything other than true, was here. He was here, and he had weapons, and it seemed he was more than a little peeved about everything that had transpired.

There was nothing they could do now.

A driver had been sent to the house, and it was too extravagant to be from anyone other than Dominika, so Cambria grabbed Atlas and went. The mansion was safer than their house. Even if Ferrox wasn't there. Even if she had no idea where he was. She really wished she knew. Chances are he was headed to the mansion himself; someone had probably sent for him.

But what if he was still out there?

The car could barely navigate through the streets, there were so many panicked people running down them. She could hear terrified screaming, whimpering, people smacking their sides against the car as they fought to get by it. The driver, whoever he was, looked just as terrified as the rest of them. Atlas sat on the backseat behind her, craning his neck to stare out the window with wide eyes. There was nothing she could do. Protecting him for this, right now, would get them nowhere.

She could barely hear the radio through the shouting outside.

"Don't mind me," Cambria muttered, stretching to the front seat to turn the volume up. The driver didn't even spare her a glance, staring in horror out the windshield, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Honestly, she'd rather be driving. There was a spatter of words over the radio, almost crackling, and then they started to make sense.

"—that the south sector of the city has been shut down entirely, residents in the area are encouraged to take cover. As many residents as possible are being evacuated towards the Inner Capitol. Multiple injures reported at the South Station and adjacent street. Only two confirmed deaths, b-but—"

"But what?" She snapped. There was a burst of gunfire, off in the distance, over the radio. She could hear the camera crew panicking. Why the hell were they even still out there filming? They should be getting out of his way.

"The two deaths are confirmed to be V-Vice President Creon Goddard and his personal secretary Abelia Lorenzo."

Fuck. And wasn't that the understatement of the century?

"He's going to kill us!" The driver shouted, hysteria creeping into his voice. He wasn't though, was he? The first time she had met Creon and his assistant was when they called the meeting about the Sentinels, to discuss keeping the program open. And it had stayed open, because of him. Dominika hardly had a choice in the matter.

"No, he's not," she insisted. "Just keep going. And for christ's sake, don't hit anyone, we're almost there."

"Mommy?"

She turned back to Atlas. He had swiveled in his seat and was staring at her, half leaned into the front of the car. Cambria reached back and ruffled his hair, like her and Ferrox did everyday. Like everything was okay.

"We'll be at the mansion soon, sweetheart. Don't worry."

He was too young to even ask where they were going. All he understood was that something bad was happening, and she had no control over it. They would be there soon. They would be okay. She still needed to know where Ferrox was, where the rest of the team was. So many people. Maybe they were all un-involved but maybe Arker didn't know that. Maybe, as long as he was almost right, it didn't matter.

"We'll be okay soon. I promise."

* * *

 **Dominika Gardell, 38, President of Panem**

* * *

This was the last thing she had expected.

Everyone had gathered in her personal office, Cambria included. Atlas sat in Cybell's lap across the room, playing with some sort of puzzle she had found. Either way, it was distracting him. For now, at least.

"We have no idea where Ferrox is," Cambria hissed in her ear. "Your Vice President is fucking dead. I have no idea where the hell our team is—"

"Resani and Sona are on their way here," she stated. "No one's gotten ahold of Cyrus and Lex. Or Ferrox, for that matter. Your sister and Vesper are at a safe house on the east side of the city. I can't do anything else right now."

And she couldn't. That was the worst part. Her people were dying, and something she had kept alive was at fault for it.

"So, what do we know about him?" She directed at no one in particular. One of the researchers at the table was staring at his computer, eyes searching. He looked up at her, hair askew and a little nervous. She nodded.

"Twenty-three years old, went back as far as we could and the records are saying they're probably half-brothers; same mother, different fathers. Disappeared five years ago, case never closed. Next seen in District Two footage at the 155th reapings, and then again on the night of the finale. All records of him were destroyed by the Sentinels when he joined up with them. It's almost impossible to find any other information. We don't even have a name yet, but we're looking."

Because that's what they had agreed to do. Erasing the existence of everyone in their personal army ensured that no one would ever find out unless the people there willed it otherwise.

"So you're saying this kid managed to get into our underground program in Two and now he's killing us for it?" Cambria asked, voice eerily calm. She sat down with a hard thunk next to the chair Dominika was standing by, crossing her legs.

"That ... seems to be the most likely possibility, yes. We could try to contact the Sentinels for more information with your blessing, Madam President, before the General gets there—"

"No," Dominika said evenly. "Contact General Marquesa and his troops. I want an update on their extermination and nothing more."

Everyone in the room stared at her. Some looked shocked at her sudden need to know, others seemed to have no surprise at all. Cambria was the only one who didn't turn to look at her, her eyes remaining on where Atlas sat across the room.

"He said he would contact us when developments were made—"

"I don't care if he said he would contact us. I want information now about how successful they been, where they're currently located, every sliver of information should already be in my hands and yet it isn't. If Arker's killing our people, then I want a guarantee that his die next. They can't be allowed back into society; the things they know, the skills they possess. General Marquesa knows this and all of you should as well."

An intern scampered from the room on her orders when he realized just how serious she was. Fire with fire. Her people for Arker's. There were kids in there, loyal followers, and she no longer cared. Death was the easiest way.

"What about Arker?" Cambria asked. "Considering he's the current problem."

"We'll find him." She had made running impossible in this city years ago. They would find him, eventually. He couldn't run forever. "Just please tell me Seren Dobrana has been secured."

"She's the least of our problems," Cambria scoffed. "Seren's the last person this bastard would go after. You should know that. We need to find Ferrox. Someone send a team after him, for the love of god. _Now_."

A few words, and that was all it took. Some of the researchers went back to the computers. A few guards scattered to go after Ferrox. Cambria sat perfectly still in her chair, refusing to move. There was no saying any of this was right. A brainless army, all dead at her hands. Not all of them were brainless, though. There were real people in there, and maybe their blood would be on her hands too, but there was so much at this point that it would blend in with the rest.

They had the equivalent to an assassin trailing after them, and he seemed to be one step ahead. Confident as she acted, Dominika had no idea if they would really find him. They needed more information, information they wouldn't be able to access.

So much for being the President. It did nothing for her now.

"We don't have any other plans, do we?" Cambria questioned, voice softer. "We just have to wait."

Dominika put a hand on her shoulder, the two of them united for once without question. They were always at odds, both of them. But for the first time since she stepped foot into this office, she felt truly scared. Not for herself. For everything around her.

"We just have to wait," she agreed. Wait, and pray. Hope that things would work out the way she wanted them to. Needed them to.

She was as useless as any of them were, now.

The gunfire echoed outside, far away in the distance, but it lingered long after it had gone.

* * *

 **Ferrox Mervaine, 33, Head Gamemaker**

* * *

His phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Honestly, it was starting to get annoying.

There was fucking chaos in the streets, and he kind of needed to prioritize focusing on that instead of his phone, except now he can focus on anything but. He yanked the phone out of his pocket at the next ring, putting it to his ear before he could even check who it was. Did it really matter, at this point?

"Hello—"

"Ferrox! Oh, God, Ferrox, you're okay. I don't know what to do, I'm _terrified_ —"

"Lex, slow down," he insisted. "Where the fuck are you?"

Lex is the only one that would terrify him. Sona can take care of herself, and Cyrus wouldn't panic in the first place. Resani's probably too busy doing something stupid to even notice the disaster going on. But Lex is like the tiny little sister he never had, and now he has to prioritize her. He has to.

"I'm at the South Station," she babbled. "I was heading home but I don't know what to _do_."

And that's fucking perfect, that particular train station is located two minutes down the street from the one Arker entered from. There's no telling if he's still there.

"Get back on the train," he ordered. "Head for Cyrus, he's closer than anything else."

"But what about—"

"He's not going to hurt you. If the rumors are true about him killing Goddard then he's not going after random civilians. You're not involved with this, he's not going to hurt you. Just go. I'm almost home. I'll call you as soon as I get there and you call me as soon as you're safe."

Lex had nothing to do with the Sentinels. She was never in any votes, barely understood what was happening at all, and Ferrox just had to pray that he was right about this. Lex only sounds the slightest bit more calm when she hangs up, but hopefully that's enough. She may be terrified but she's smart. She can get there on her own. Goddard, on the other hand, might as well have surrendered. He's the one that convinced Dominika to keep the program running in the first place. The second Arker stepped off that platform he was dead.

He could see his front door from here. There were people running in every direction, slamming into him and shoving him back and forth. He lunged for the stairs, grabbing the railing and hauling himself up, shutting the door before any random person could follow in him.

Ferrox turned the lock on the door as he slammed it shut behind him, sliding the deadbolt in. A precaution, and not one he usually took, but the last thing he needed was a panicked civilian actually thinking they could run right through his front door. He was safe now. Although it was terrible to think, it wasn't his problem anymore. He had no information, no idea what was going on.

Nobody had even found Arker yet, and chances were nobody was going to.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

He froze. He hadn't heard anything before, hadn't seen anything, but then again, he was still facing the door. He moved to turn.

"Don't move."

Evidently this really is his problem, then. More his problem than anyone else's, in fact. Fuck. He was beginning to take back the bit about no one finding Arker's location, because he was standing in his goddamn living room.

"Can I move yet?" Ferrox asked. He was probably pushing his luck. There was no response. He slowly began to turn away from the door, figuring he'd either get a bullet in his head for his troubles or he was actually allowed. Fortunately there was no click of a gun, no movement at all save for the figure standing in the shadow of his living room. Definitely the brother, then, and he could just barely make out the edges of his face. Same eyes and everything. Fuck's sake. He opened his mouth to speak again, glancing up the stairs.

"Don't worry, Cambria's not here. Neither is your son. Probably in lockdown at some government building or other. Maybe the mansion, if they're lucky. I'm not as much of a monster as you think I am."

"You shot fourteen people—"

"Seventeen. Looks like they missed a few."

Ferrox knew only a handful of them were dead, but he also knew that the kid hadn't missed the vitals on purposed. Only the ones he wanted dead. The rest of them were collateral damage, at best. Probably got in his way. Didn't move in time. None of them were important. Just numbers. Ferrox has to remind himself that the longer he stalls, the safer everyone else is. Hopefully.

"Do you have a name?"He tried. He didn't think he had ever admitted to being scared out-loud in his life, but he had a kid who had mowed down a city block standing ten feet away from him, a gun in his hand. It wasn't raised. Not yet.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

"You telling me you remember all of the kid's names who have died?"

Well, he had him there. Sue him, he had a terrible memory. That sure as hell wasn't a crime, even if everything else was.

"What's killing me gonna solve? Someone's just gonna take my place. Someone who's just as bad if not worse and once they catch you they'll execute publicly in front of everyone in this damn city, and you won't even die a martyr. You want that?"

A bold-faced lie, because there were people that probably agreed with this kid. Ferrox agreed with him; what they had done was wrong, but everything he did was wrong. All he had left, though, were quickly dwindling scare-tactics against a kid who didn't have an ounce of fear in his body. A kid who might not have even watched his brother die, judging by the camera records. Maybe he did, though. Maybe that's why he's so royally pissed off and choosing to express that in such violent ways.

By the time he wormed his way out of his own thoughts, there was a gun pointed at his head. Less than ten feet, now. Maybe eight. No time to dodge if he pulled the trigger. There'd be nothing left of his head but brain and blood splattered on the walls.

"Sorry about this. Hopefully it doesn't hurt that much."

He hadn't put Kal in that arena. He hadn't even killed him. He had taken care of that himself.

"I didn't even kill your brother. He killed himself. You're going to kill me? Guess that makes you more of a monster than you believe."

The boy—God, he still didn't even have a name, had absolutely _nothing_ —in the first display of emotion he had seen, had the faintest edges of a smirk on his face.

"I know."

 _Bang._

* * *

 **Capitol-Central News: Channel 6**  
 **23:08:04: Re-Broadcast To All Districts**

* * *

"This morning at approximately 11:34am, an unknown infiltrator originally from District Six broke through Capitol boundary lines on a bullet train inbound from District Two carrying goods and supplies for the Lower Capitol. This person has been identified as the elder half-brother of District Six tribute Kal Arker."

"Information found from District sources said the boy disappeared off the grid at the age of eighteen, the case never closed and no body ever found. He was not seen again until found footage from each District Square revealed his face at the reaping of the 155th Hunger Games. The next time cameras caught his face was the night of the finale, where he disappeared seconds later, presumably moving towards the loading dock or train station heading towards the Capitol."

"Arker made it past the security at the Capitol loading station, killing both Vice President Goddard and his personal secretary. Ignoring the Lower and Upper Capitol, he shot an additional fifteen people; two of whom were pronounced deceased on the scene and one who later died in hospital. The city remains on lockdown until further notice. Curfew has been extended and no one is to leave their homes or place of current residence unless otherwise stated."

"President Gardell has labelled this unknown as an enemy of the State. He has not been seen since this morning and has yet to be apprehended by Capitol Forces. Any and all news of his whereabouts, or even information regarding his past and present plans, will be greatly rewarded by the Government Treasury Department. Any found harboring, aiding, or abetting this criminal will be subjected to immediate execution."

"On this day, we ask you to—"

The monotone man reading off the screen in front of him paused, eyes narrowing, and then widening as he read the latest flow of breaking news that had been presented to him. His facial expression was that of utter confusion, but the horror in his eyes quickly took over his face. The man visibly swallowed, adam's apple bobbing. He frantically tugged at his tie, coughing deeply to compose himself.

"I have just been informed that Seren Dobrana, Victor of the 155th Hunger Games, has been declared a missing persons. She was last seen shortly before 6pm just today by both her stylist and later her personal mentor just inside the safe house in which she had been transported to. No cameras or security footage has picked up a trace of her since, nor have there been any official recognitions by any Capitolian citizens. There was no sign of disturbance on her floor of residence or in the building itself. All search units and force patrols will be turned onto this case as efficiently and soon as possible."

The broadcast flickered to black, sending colours sliding across the screen before fading entirely.

In every District, in every Capitol home, there was nothing but silence.

* * *

Throwback to the time when you guys actually wanted to upload these epilogues.

Yeah. Remember that.


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